Remember You Must Die and Live
by N3GatorFan
Summary: After an unexpected hospital stay, Dr. Henry Morgan's personality appears to have changed. It seems to be connected with a series of murders, but no one suspects that he has amnesia. With a rising death toll and Henry's type of amnesia, the team races against time to jog his memory and to clear his name.
1. Chapter 1

**Memento Mori et Vivere (Remember, You Must Die and Live)**

 _ **Disclaimer**_ : The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to Forever creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters, the plot for the story, and Henry's flashbacks are my own creation. I have posted my story here, and I don't profit from it.

 _ **Author's Note**_ : This is my first fanfic of any sort. I hope that you'll enjoy my story. Please feel free to comment in the "Reviews" section. I want to hear from you.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

"This is ridiculous."

New York City Police Officer Rick Hannigan looked over at his shivering junior partner as they rounded another corner of East River Park. Although the calendar read spring, winter had kept its stiff grip on the city. The sun tried to pierce the slate-gray sky. The choppy river threatened to come over any barrier in its way, including the one separating the river from the park. The cold winds coming off the river pierced straight through the patrolman's coat and uniform to his bones.

"Why are we even doing this? We should be sitting in a patrol car, all nice and warm." The junior officer's thick Southern accent evoked visions of him sitting on a front porch in Texas or Georgia after a long day of work as a high school football coach, not as a rookie NYPD officer.

Officer Hannigan softly chuckled. Ordinarily, he and his partner would be patrolling a different part of the 11th Precinct by car. The East River Park area really did not have a lot of crime to speak of. Maybe an occasional purse snatching, a complaint about a homeless person sleeping on a park bench—that sort of thing. No murders, drug deals, or other violent crimes that would justify this walk.

The police commissioner, however, ordered an extra patrol of the area near the East River years ago. People had been complaining about a man in the area exposing himself in public. The first time that the officer had seen the suspect, it was a cold early spring day, just like today. He and his partner were patrolling the East River Bikeway near Catherine Slip. The man in question walked down the path from the Brooklyn Bridge toward the city. He was dripping wet—and naked. He held his hands over his privates to shield them from public view. His wet hair laid straight on his head. His chest had an odd scar, almost like a buckshot, on his left breast. Naturally, the two police officers ordered the man to put his hands up where they can see them. That, in Officer Hannigan's opinion, contributed to the charge of indecent exposure. Fortunately, the man went with them without resisting arrest and even tried to make a joke out of the situation.

Officer Hannigan later learned that the man who he and his partner picked up was none other than New York City medical examiner Dr. Henry Morgan. Different senior patrol officers in the 11th Precinct had the same type of encounter with the doctor over the years, but no one knew why the encounters happened. Everyone seemed to be concerned about the idea of Dr. Morgan being arrested near the East River and not his nakedness. Every officer the patrolman spoke with suspected that Dr. Morgan tried to swim in the river. Others have tried it—and died in its swift currents. Yet, Dr. Morgan somehow always looked like he survived the swim at the time of his arrests.

Each officer in patrol had his or her own theory as to why Dr. Morgan would place himself in that type of situation. Some thought that he wanted to escape the pressures of being a medical examiner. Others felt that he could not handle seeing crime scenes firsthand, as medical examiners from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner typically did not mingle with the NYPD. Others believed that he worried about his future for some reason. A couple of female officers even suggested that he should dump his girlfriend as their relationship was on the rocks. Officer Hannigan did not know what to believe. All he knew was that Dr. Morgan had the right to do what he wanted with his life without comment from others.

After another incident about nine months after Officer Hannigan's encounter with the eccentric medical examiner, the homicide division discovered that Dr. Morgan had a history of naked sleepwalking. Officer Hannigan learned about it when one of the detectives—Hanson, if memory served correctly—approached him for a donation that would go toward swim trunks and goggles for the doctor. Officer Hannigan fished his wallet out of his pocket and contributed five dollars, hoping that the doctor would sleep in the trunks in case of another incident.

All that occurred a few years ago. It seemed that Dr. Morgan's work with the homicide division was working wonders for the naked sleepwalking. It still happened; Dr. Morgan had another incident about two days before, with a different team arresting him. The incidents just weren't as frequent. In fact, Officer Hannigan was sure that he would not be seeing the medical examiner in that condition again for a long period of time. Still, the senior officer knew that, sooner or later, he would need to tell his partner about the doctor's eccentric habit.

A sudden blast of cold wind from the river snapped the officer out of his memories. He turned his attention to his junior colleague, a Florida native apparently experiencing his first New York winter.

"It doesn't get this cold in Florida?" Officer Hannigan and his partner swerved to avoid a jogger passing between them.

"Not in Key West," the young man replied. "Up in Gainesville, it can get pretty cold. One time, I nearly froze my butt off trying to cross campus."

"You were late to class?" Officer Hannigan rubbed his gloved hands across his face in an attempt to keep it from freezing.

"Nah. My frat brothers decided that it would be cool if I streaked across the campus." The officer laughed at the memory. "My saving grace was that a campus preacher and a campus police officer in Turlington Plaza saw me walking very slowly through the area. If they hadn't talked me into going inside Turlington Hall and getting warm,…" The young man's voice trailed off at the thought of not being around because of a stupid hazing incident.

"Oh, man. I'm sorry to hear that." Officer Hannigan decided that telling the young cop about Dr. Morgan's naked sleepwalking would have to wait until later. "They should not have done that."

"I know." The officer rubbed his gloved hands together and stopped to tap his right foot on the sidewalk to thaw it.

"What came of it?"

"There was an investigation by the Panhellenic Council and the university, and my fraternity was suspended. It was in all of the papers. I was so grateful for that campus officer's presence that I decided to become a cop. You know, so I can help people."

"Why New York City?"

The pair resumed walking. "It was the only place that I applied to that was hiring. Besides, as the old saying goes, "If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere"." A smile lit the young man's face as he thought about his future in NYPD.

Officer Hannigan looked up at the New York City skyline. This was his home. His great-great grandparents on his father's side and his great grandfather migrated here from Ireland at the turn of the 20th century. He could not imagine leaving here and starting over in a new city, or even a new country. No family or friends to support him. No job, at least at first. No sense of the community. No idea of the culture or the history of the place. Maybe even no idea of how to speak the language.

Nor could he imagine holding another job other than the one he had. His father and his grandfather both worked for NYPD. His great-grandfather had first joined after a couple of gangsters tried to injure the manager of the Lower East Side factory where he worked in 1903. From that time on, it seemed to be in the Hannigan men's blood to be cops.

Suddenly, a man with dark brown hair and a bare white chest crossed Officer Hannigan's field of vision. The man was about Dr. Morgan's height and build, and he walked parallel to the river. Officer Hannigan tensed up and quickened his steps. Behind him, the police officer heard his junior colleague's footsteps keeping time with his. He had not expected Dr. Morgan to appear here again so soon after his latest incident.

Officer Hannigan plotted out his course of action as he kept the man in his sights. Maybe he could block his colleague's view of Dr. Morgan's privates to give the doctor some small sense of privacy. The more pressing concern, however, was figuring out a way to tell his colleague about the doctor. In every encounter, the medical examiner proved to be the ideal arrestee: completely submissive and compliant as the officers handcuffed him and escorted him to their car. The officer could not help but to wonder if his partner would suggest sending the doctor to Bellevue for a psychiatric evaluation. If that were to occur, the situation could suddenly turn much more violent than what it had always been.

"Excuse us," came an unfamiliar voice from behind the two men. Officer Hannigan instinctively moved aside as two more men, both with bare chests, jogged beside them. _Apparently, the naked sleepwalking seems to be contagious._

The officer watched the two men joined their companion at the end of the path. One bent over to pick something off of the ground. A solid red swim trunk covered the man's exposed rear end. The other two men also wore swim trunks. One had gray hair and a few wrinkles while the second looked like a teenager. Dr. Morgan's "doppelganger", the one with the red swim trunks, wrapped a blanket around himself as he shivered. Officer Hannigan let out his breath and slowed down as he closed the gap between himself and the men. He dropped his arm as he relaxed; he did not even realize that he reached for his gun until that second.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Do you mind if I ask you what you're doing?" The three men turned their heads toward the two officers at the sound of Officer Hannigan's voice.

"We tried to join the Polar Bear Club in their annual New Year's Day swim this year." The older man picked up a blanket from his bag and wrapped himself in it. "It was so cold for us that we decided that we should train for next year." The man with the swim trunks nodded in agreement while putting on his shirt.

"We've been meeting here every Monday before work walking around the park," the older man continued as he dressed. "With the F Train being serviced this past Monday, we couldn't do it. This is the first time that our work schedules would allow for our training." The older man reached down and picked up his shoes.

Officer Hannigan glanced over the two men's shoulder. The youngest member of the group had disappeared when they were talking.

"What about your friend? Where did he take off to?"

"Oh, Billy?" The man with the red swim trunks now placed his remaining bare leg into his pants. "He's my son," the younger man pointed at the older one, "and his grandson. He rarely leaves my side during these runs."

"Except for now."

"Well,…"

"Officers, over here." All four men looked in the direction of the voice. Billy's voice rang out from the nearby trees. The two officers dashed across the park, being careful of where they stepped in case their toes caught on a tree root.

A pair of bare feet greeted Officer Hannigan as he reached the young man, who was still in his swim trunks. Just above the bare feet was a blue pair of sweatpants. A blue hoodie with a white t-shirt under it covered the person's chest and arms. The seasoned officer could see a blood stain on the hoodie; the person's left hand and forearm laid over the stain. The right arm was raised over the man's head, palm-up.

"I just found him lying like this." Billy's wide eyes and wavering voice indicated that he must have anticipated the officer's question. Officer Hannigan squatted down and saw that the person was barely breathing. A lump caught in the seasoned officer's throat as he looked at the face of the person lying still next to him. Officer Hannigan turned his head toward his partner, in part to steady his emotions. The other two men's heads appeared over his partner's left shoulder.

"Contact Lt. Joanna Reece with 11th Precinct homicide. He's one of hers." Officer Hannigan heard his voice cracking with each word he spoke. His partner showed no signs of panic, just a calm demeanor. He just nodded and stepped away from the men so that he could fulfill his partner's request.

Officer Hannigan turned his attention back to the man beside him and placed his hand on the unconscious man's wrist. The pulse was faint. The man's dry skin, however, showed no signs of a lack of oxygen. The cop knew that it was either a matter of time before either the cold or the cause of his unconsciousness would kill the man. Yet, the man had so much to live for; the officer just could not let the man die.

"Come on, stay with us, Dr. Morgan." Officer Hannigan reached for his radio to summon an ambulance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** : There are some spoilers for the pilot, "Diamonds Are Forever", "The King of Columbus Circle", and the last five episodes of the season in this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Incessant beeping filled Henry's ears. Henry had no idea what was making the sound, but it was piercing through his head. He shifted slightly and felt something heavy over his waist and legs. His right arm seemed to be anchored to the bed by a heavy object. A narrow ribbon of pressure crossed both sides of his face and entered his nose. The beeping continued, and it was becoming very annoying.

Henry opened his eyes and noticed that he was lying in a bed and wearing a hospital gown, a white hospital band around his left wrist, and an oxygen hose across his face and in his nose. A closet and a set of drawers stood across from the foot of his bed. With a quick glance to his right, he saw a wall of windows covered with drawn blinds. A quick glance to his left revealed the source of the sound, an IV pump with two bags of sodium chloride solution hanging from the loops above the pump. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw a computer and a desk mounted to the wall behind him; a metal arm with hinges was all that attached the computer monitor to the wall. Behind the computer was a curtain, pushed back so that the nurses could monitor him. Just beyond the computer was the bathroom. A sink with two hand dispensers, one for soap and one for hand sanitizer, stood on the other side of the entrance into the room. A clock and a TV set were mounted to the wall between the sink and the closet.

Henry pushed his head deeper into the pillow. Something serious had happened, and he was in the hospital. He searched his mind for the origins of his condition. Instead, a black fog appeared where his memories should have been. He tried every method he could think of, but nothing could penetrate through it. He decided to give up for the moment and try again later.

He then looked down at his right hand. A much older right hand laid over it, its fingers laced around his. Henry shifted his weight and turned to follow the arm up to its owner. He saw an old man sound asleep in the chair beside him. The man wore a blue sweater vest over a white long-sleeved shirt. A gold pendant hung down from his neck. His face, chiseled with age, was so strange, yet so familiar. He started to gently pull his hand out from under the man's hand, but the older one's hand closed tighter around his.

"Dad, just five more minutes, please." Henry's body jumped, and he looked at the man.

Henry wanted to ask him " _How can you sleep through that infernal noise?_ ", but he did not have the energy to utter it. It did not matter anyway, as the beeping served as an electronic alarm clock. The man stirred and opened his eyes.

"Henry, you're awake." The man straightened up in the chair. "How do you feel?"

"I feel like a lorry rolled right over me". _That didn't sound correct_. He was not sure if it was the lack of energy in his voice, the words of the sentence, or the differences in his accent and the man's.

Henry replayed the man's first words to him. _How did this strange man know my name? In fact, how does he know_ me _?_

The man studied the look on Henry's face. A look of concern, followed by one of recognition, crossed the old man's face. "It's probably just the effects of whatever happened to you. It'll pass."

"What happened?" Henry hoped that the man's answer could provide him with some clues to one of his mysteries.

"Honestly, I don't know." Henry's heart sank. "All I know is that I got a call from NYPD letting me know that they had found you near the East River alive but unconscious and that they were bringing you here. The doctors have been running tests on you to find out what happened."

The needle of the IV began to pull on his skin, so Henry shifted in the bed to get more comfortable. The man leaned over the rails and put his hand on Henry. "Just take it easy." The man sat back down when Henry gave him a puzzled look. "I just don't want to see you hurt yourself. That's all."

Henry wanted to ask the man who he was. Before he could, he heard a female voice with an accent similar to Abe's near his door. A gray-haired woman with a pixie cut and blue scrubs knocked on the door and walked into the room. Her hands curving into a C-shape when they were relaxed indicated that she was a rock climber, and quite an experienced one for someone her age. A wedding ring with a square cut, likely passed down from mother to son, adorned her left ring finger.

She looked at Henry. "I see that you are awake. I was just coming in to check your IV." She and Henry both looked up at the bags; one was empty while the other was half-full. She checked the hoses, opened the cover to the IV pump, and pushed a few buttons. Soft clicks replaced the beeping, much to Henry's relief. "You probably had an air bubble in the lines."

The nurse looked over to the older man sitting in the chair. Henry followed her gaze back to the man in the chair. "As for you, sir, I'm sorry, but…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Hospital policy." The man rose from his seat, picked up his coat from the seat, and put it on. For a moment, the man's slumped shoulders and frown reminded Henry of a son who refused to leave his father. "Well, Henry, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try to be here around eleven. Do me a favor: Don't try to pick up any nurses while I'm gone." The man attempted to smile at the confused doctor.

Henry wanted to chuckle at the man's suggestion, but he felt so weak that he could only afford a smile in return. The gentleman, whoever he was, was very affable. The man reached out and laid his hand over Henry's for a moment as he started to leave.

Henry watched the old man as he left the room and entered the hallway. He stopped, pulled out his smartphone out of his pants pocket, and tapped on it a few times. "Hey, Jo, it's Abe…." Henry watched as the man walked away.

Finally, Henry had a name to associate with the man's face—Abe. _Why does that sound so familiar?_

"He's been here since they brought you into the room." Henry's head turned back toward the nurse. "He's such a sweet gentleman. I hate to do that to him, but, you know, hospital rules. Are you two close?"

 _Apparently so_. "Yes, we are." Henry glanced down at his feet to avoid eye contact with the nurse. He felt like a fraud, but he could not bring himself to admit that he had no idea who the gentleman was.

"It's good to see a close father-son relationship like yours." Henry looked back up at the nurse. "You are fortunate to have a father who cares about you that much. Some people don't have that."

"He mentioned that the doctors have been running some tests on me. Do you know anything about that?" He might have been weak, but he still needed to know what had happened.

The nurse chuckled. Henry glared at her seemingly insensitive reaction to his question. "I'm sorry," she replied. After she took a few seconds to stop, she continued, "Your father warned me that you would attempt to diagnose yourself. Well, I'll let you speak with the attending physician about those tests. Speaking of which, I need to go and tell him that you're awake." With that, she exited the room and walked down the hall in the opposite direction.

Henry turned his head back to the foot of his bed. He wanted answers to his questions, but he did not expected Abe and the nurse to flood his mind with so much information in a short period of time. His being found by NYPD near the East River. The differences in his, Abe's, and the nurse's accents. Abe's presence by his bedside. The nurse's comment about him trying to diagnose himself. Abe calling a Jo, whoever he, or she, was. Even how he knew the woman's ring was a family heirloom. Each piece of information begged more questions than answers.

Henry searched his memory again for some answers, to no avail. Why was there a massive void where a river of memories should exist? Anger about the situation began to rise. Everything— _everything_ —about his life should come to him easily. Yet, his life was stolen from him. He wanted someone, anyone to blame for the theft. Then again, maybe he was to blame. Maybe his memories were taken from him as punishment for some unknown wrong that he had committed.

He closed his eyes momentarily to compose himself. He decided that there was nothing that he could do about the massive hole in his memory. Whatever was there had vanished, lost to time and history. All he could do was to wait for the doctor to arrive and to tell him what happened to him.

If he could not determine what happened, at least he could find some clues as to his identity. Making sure that he did not pull the IV needle, he raised his left arm and studied his hospital band. The single band indicated that, in spite of his current state, he was in excellent health. According to the band, he was born on September 19, 1979, and that he was hospitalized in NYU Medical Center—Bellevue. The name "Bellevue" sounded familiar, but, at the moment, he didn't care. Henry smiled as he realized he now knew that he was a man in his late-30s living in New York City.

His eyes landed on the name "Morgan". Where was his family? _Who_ was his family? Henry replayed his conversation with the nurse in his head, looking for clues. She referred to Abe as his father. If so, that explained Abe's presence near his bedside and his concern for Henry. Henry, however, could not shake the look on Abe's face before he left. Why did it make him think, even momentarily, that the roles were reversed?

Fatigue quickly set in, and Henry found himself unable to concentrate any more. He knew that his last question and his other mysteries would have to wait until later to be solved. He looked up at the clock. A series of ticks kept perfect time with the second hand. Abe would be back tomorrow, and the doctor would arrive soon. Maybe they could provide him with some more answers. His eyes felt heavy, and the relative quiet of the hospital room lulled him to sleep.

* * *

"Thank you, Abe." Detective Jo Martinez tapped her smartphone to end the call and placed it back in her pocket. She let loose a breath that she held during her conversation with Henry's son.

It had been a tense couple of days. Two days before, assistant medical examiner Lucas Wahl had come into homicide with some evidence in one of their cases. He then calmly informed her and Detective Mike Hanson that Henry had not showed up for work and that their colleagues had speculated the F Train's servicing delayed his arrival. Instinctively, Jo called patrol and booking. Both departments confirmed that Henry was indeed arrested—again—for indecent exposure. The sergeant in charge of processing was adamant that Henry was to spend 24 hours in jail before being released and paying the fine. Jo grunted as she hung up the phone.

Jo chuckled at her instinct as she looked at Lucas and informed him and Mike of Henry's whereabouts. During the first year or so after meeting Henry, she would have asked him what was going on after his release from jail. After he told her that he was immortal, it quickly became second nature for her to call the two divisions instead of launching a search when he disappeared. Each of his deaths still frightened her; anyone's death would. Yet, each awakening, as he called his naked rebirth in the closest body of water, brought an odd sense of comfort and reassurance that he would never leave her, his family, or his friends in that way.

The next day, however, it seemed as though maybe he could die permanently. Henry agreed to pay the fine and was released from jail. That was the last time anyone had seen him. With Lt. Reece's and the OCME's permission, Jo, Mike, and Lucas launched a private search for Henry. With over 8 million people in the city alone and 24 million people in the entire metropolitan area, trying to find Henry was like looking for a needle in a haystack. That was assuming that he hadn't fled the country because someone had learned of his immortality. When both Officer Hannigan and Abe called earlier that day to let them know where Henry was, it felt as though the worst was over.

The call to this crime scene came just as Jo and Mike left the office to visit Henry in the hospital before heading home for the night. The New York City Fire Department generally did not ask NYPD for assistance when putting out a fire in an apartment complex. The presence of a body in one of the two burning units prompted the need for a police investigation. Jo called Abe to let him know about the case so he could tell Henry when he woke up. That was three hours ago. She and Mike were still questioning neighbors about the fire and attempting to track down both the owner of the unit and the owner of the complex. Any chances of visiting Henry would have to wait until tomorrow.

She turned around and walked back toward the building. Mike paced around the building's front. Lucas squatted down next to the burnt body that the firefighters had pulled out of the building. At the sound of her heels, Mike stopped pacing, and Lucas looked up. Their faces were full of anticipation.

"That was Abe. Henry's awake." Both men let out sighs of relief.

"What did the doctors have to say?" Mike asked.

"He really did not say much beyond that. Henry's nurse kicked him out just before he called."

"It's weird to think that Henry's in the hospital." The usually jovial Lucas looked very somber. "He's always been the strong one, given his…" Jo glared at him. "You know what I mean. You both have been hospitalized before. I don't remember him mention anything about ever being in a hospital, aside from working in one."

Jo nodded. Both she and Mike were hospitalized with gunshot wounds. Jo's former academy classmate NYPD Detective Hugh Dunn shot Mike in the arm during a shootout with the associate of one of her late husband Assistant District Attorney Sean Moore's informants. As for Jo, she had been shot during her and Henry's first case together.

Henry, due to his immortality, would place himself in dangerous situations for anyone on the team. He proved that during their first case when he threw himself and their shooter, Hans Koehler, off the roof to their deaths. Jo initially thought that his willingness to endanger his own life was a lack of self-preservation. After revealing his condition to her, Henry told her that he knew that, if he did not, that their lives would be lost forever. She could tell from the tears welling up in his eyes that it was something he did not want to happen.

Lucas' focus on Jo snapped her out of her thoughts. The look on his face had changed from worry to being lost in thought. "They'll probably keep him in the hospital for a couple of days. You know, checking for any damage to his organs. Which is unlikely,…"

Mike turned and stared at Lucas. "Don't go all Doc Morgan on us."

Jo tried to stifle a giggle at Mike's comment, but it escaped. Mike and Lucas looked at her and then smiled. It was just like Henry to go into details about an obscure fact, and it was just like Lucas to imitate him.

Jo peered back at the body and then looked at Lucas. "So, do you have any idea of the cause of death?"

Lucas nodded his head. "If I were Dr. Washington, I would say that the fire caused his, or her, death." Lucas straightened his head, threw his hands up, and looked at Mike. "It could be either gender!"

"And if you were Henry?" Jo prompted, causing Lucas to turn his face back to her.

"If I were Henry, I'd say that we would need an autopsy."

Mike stared at Lucas. "You know Doc would immediately say that it was murder."

"And he would agree with Lucas about needing a more thorough examination of the body."

Lucas stood up and walked over to the van parked nearby so that he can get a gurney. Mike, meanwhile, stayed with his partner and studied her face. He must have picked up on her worry about Henry.

"So, are you thinking about going to the hospital to visit him? We're almost done here."

Jo shook her head. "It's already past eight. We'll have to do it tomorrow."

Lucas came back with the gurney, smiling. "You know, I can sneak you into the hospital tonight if you want. I can wear one of Henry's lab coats, and you can wear one of our scrubs. Then again, our scrubs have the OCME logo on it…."

Jo smiled. "Thank you for your offer, but I think that the logo would give us away." Lucas' face started to fall. "Tell you what. What if we pick you up when we go tomorrow?"

Lucas' grin returned. "That would be awesome! Yeah, just let me know when, and I'll be there."

Mike placed his hand on Jo's shoulder and turned her toward him. "Go home. It's been a long couple of days for you. I've got it from here." Ordinarily, Jo would protest, but he was right. She needed her rest, especially if she wanted to visit Henry tomorrow.

"Thank you, Mike." She turned around and walked back to her car. After she got in, she just sat there. Mike's question about Henry's condition bothered her. Abe did not say anything about it except that Henry's room was on the neurological floor of the hospital. Either the doctors did not know anything at this time or they knew something that Abe did not know. Millions of possibilities flew through her mind. She could feel tears welling in her eyes at the thought of some of them. She placed her hands on the steering wheel to steady her emotions and calm her thoughts. She needed to talk to Abe as soon as she got home. Jo started the car and began her trip to the one place where she felt comfortable to do so.

* * *

Abe looked at the place where his father was found. The glow of both Manhattan's and Brooklyn's city lights blocked the stars while the cloud cover hid the moon. Yellow crime scene tape tied to the trees fluttered in the light breeze coming from the river. Ordinarily, Dad was the one who visited crime scenes, and he would not allow Abe to be anywhere near one.

This one, however, was different. Abe had to see this place. He needed to understand how his father could be injured seriously enough to require hospitalization but not enough to trigger his father's death-awakening process. Abe studied every inch of the park and could not see anything that would indicate that Dad was hurt here. The scene refused yield its secrets, if it had any.

Abe decided to leave the East River Park. It was getting late in the evening, and NYPD patrol would be walking past him at any moment. The growling of his stomach reminded him that he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. Honestly, he did not feel like eating, but both Mom, if she were alive, and Dad would encourage him to eat to maintain his strength. Katz's was still open, and he knew that he could get a sandwich there.

The drive to Katz's seemed much longer tonight than it had on any other night. Abe knew that it was because of his thoughts about his father. There were a million possibilities for Dad's hospitalization. He could have involved in an accident while walking home from jail. Someone could have mugged him. He could have eaten something in jail that disagreed with his biology. Adam, with his 2,000 years of knowledge and research into his own immortality, could have found him and did something to render him unconscious. With Dad's immortality, any scenario was possible.

Without any evidence, though, it was hard to determine which scenario was the most likely one. He, however, noticed that Dad used the word "lorry" when he first regained consciousness. Abe had not heard the word since he was 10; he heard it during his stay with his maternal grandparents in England while his parents honeymooned on the Orient Express. Abe hoped that it was a one-time use and not an indication of something worse.

Abe parked the car in the lot beside Katz's. He entered the busy restaurant and ordered two sandwiches to go. As he waited, he looked around and watched the people talking and eating with their families and friends. At one of the tables close to the counter, a mother with a young son, who could not be older than five, caught his attention.

"Mommy, is Daddy going to be okay?" The boy looked at his mother with tears in his eyes.

"Sure, he will, sweetie." The mother wiped the boy's mouth. "He's in the hospital where they'll make him feel better."

"I'm scared." The boy countered.

"I know."

Abe wanted to walk over to the family and tell the boy that his father was in the hospital and that he was scared also. He shook his head. No one would believe him if he did. In fact, the mother might contact Bellevue's psychiatric unit to have him evaluated for dementia. Gratefully, one of the cooks handed him his sandwiches before he could act on his impulse. As he left with his order, Abe took one last look at the family. He hoped that the boy's father, and his own, would be okay.

The four-block walk to the antiques shop that he and Dad called home seemed just as long as the drive to the parking lot. The second Abe saw the contours of the shop emerging from the street corner, he started to relax a little bit. As he neared the front of the building, he noticed a young woman holding the jamb and opening the door. He smiled; Jo was home. He quickened his pace and entered the shop.

He saw the young woman slowly weave her way through the tables and chairs for sell and toward the stairwell. She hadn't bothered to take off her hat and coat. "Hi, Jo."

"Hey, Abe." Jo turned around and walked up to him. She wrapped both arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding the sandwiches behind her back.

"It's been a long couple of days."

Jo let go of him. "So, how is he?" Worry filled her face.

"I didn't get a lot of time with him. He was _just_ waking up when the nurse kicked me out. Come on, we'll talk in the kitchen." Abe stepped aside to let her up the stairs and into their living quarters.

It was not like Jo to stay at the antiques shop any longer than overnight, but she had a good reason this time. The night that Dad disappeared, Jo came over with some clothes and personal items. She explained that she felt that she could not stay in her townhouse and asked if she could stay there until they found Dad. Abe quickly agreed to the arrangement. He knew that Dad would not want Jo to be left alone during this time, especially if she was tempted to drink herself to sleep like she once did when they first met.

The kitchen greeted them when they reached the top of the stairwell. He placed both sandwiches on the island and went into the living room to hang up his coat on the coatrack just inside the threshold. Jo followed him and hung up her hat and coat before returning to the table. Abe watched her as he removed two plates from one of the cabinets and set out a couple of glasses of water. She sat down in one of the chairs at the end of the table. He had to smile as he joined her. Mom used to sit on Dad's left when they ate; Jo took the chair on what would be Dad's right.

"Here. I got you something." Abe held out a plate and a sandwich to Jo.

"Ah! Abe, you shouldn't have." Jo's eyes met Abe's as she took the plate.

"Well, Gino's Gyros wasn't on my way home." Jo smiled as she took the sandwich from Abe. He took his seat between the island and the table, and they unwrapped their sandwiches. She studied the contents of her sandwich. A roast beef sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and onions was the closest Katz's had to a gyro.

"You know, I could get spoiled from this." She took a bite and smiled for a second. She licked her fingers and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a key and held it out to Abe. "Thank you for letting me borrow one of your and Henry's spare keys. I really appreciate it."

Abe wrapped his hand around hers and pressed the key back into her hand. "Keep it." Jo looked surprised at Abe's suggestion. "You never know when you'll have to use it. And that's the way that I'll explain it to Dad when he gets home." Abe knew that, ordinarily, his father would be very hesitant to let anyone have a spare key to their residence; it was out of fear that the person could betray him. Yet, Jo was one of the few people both Morgan men trusted.

"Thank you." Jo reached into her pocket and pulled out her keychain. She threaded the key onto the ring and returned the chain into her pocket.

They ate for a few more minutes before Jo spoke again. "Could you tell if anything was wrong with him?"

Abe decided not to tell her about Dad's use of the word "lorry". Mostly likely, the usage was temporary. During his childhood, a neighbor who spoke both English and Italian had a stroke that affected his speech. The neighbor's native Italian was the first language to return, and English returned about a month later.

"Dad seemed a little confused and frightened, but that should be expected. The doctors are running tests on him. The results won't be back until tomorrow at the earliest. I wish I could tell you more." He studied Jo's face and could see that her mind had drifted to another time.

"You know, that first night, when I got home, all I could think about was first Sean and now Henry." Jo started choking back tears. It had been a few years since she referred to her late husband or his sudden death. "I mean, what if it were the last time we saw Henry?"

Abe nodded and glanced down at his sandwich. He knew the last time that he felt that way. From 1985 until 2015, Dad had speculated that, through the study of his own and others' deaths, he would find a way to either die permanently or restart the aging process. Each of his deaths, however, produced the same results, and Abe was certain that his father would outlive him. In 2015, Adam proposed that an immortal could be killed permanently with the weapon that originally killed him. Adam found the flintlock pistol that originally killed Dad and stole it from hotelier Isaac Monroe, a descendant of one of the slaves Dad freed aboard _The Empress of Africa_ in 1814. For a while, Dad had the flintlock in his possession, a "gift" from Adam in return for his search for the _pugio_ that originally killed Adam. Dad planned to eventually test Adam's theory with the pistol. The week after the team learned of Mom's death and Adam's role in it, Adam stole the gun from the antiques shop's safe. The next day, he shot Dad with it while Dad returned the _pugio_. As he waited by the river, Abe worried that this particular death-awakening process would result in his father's funeral. Dad proved Adam's theory wrong when he resurfaced in the river as usual.

Abe could hear Jo sniffled. He looked up and saw her wiping tears from her eyes. Dad's disappearance two days ago had forced the grief, pain, and hurt from a loved one's death to the surface.

Jo put down her sandwich and licked her lips. "The last time I felt this way was when Adam—", she took a deep breath and let it out, "—when Adam shot Henry with that flintlock pistol. When I heard the gunshot, all I could think about was that I had lost Henry just like I lost Sean. I knew that I would never forgive myself for allowing Henry to put his life in danger over a _pugio_."

Abe was surprised to hear Jo's side of the story. He could not remember her ever talking about it in his presence.

She continued. "Of course, at the time, I didn't know that Henry was immortal, that he was seeking justice for Abigail, and that he was trying to protect me from Adam."

She glanced down at her sandwich. "I guess I got a little too used to his coming back alive and healthy. Don't get me wrong; I'm relieved he's alive. It's just that…." She sighed and looked up at Abe. "I want to know what happened to him and if he's really okay."

"There are too many possibilities as to what went wrong." Jo looked a little surprised and nodded. "That crossed my mind too."

They took a couple of bites of their sandwiches before Abe decided to speak again. "So, how are Mike and Lucas taking it?"

"Mike's not saying anything, but he's worried about Henry. Lucas was in shock for about a minute and then suggested that we could disguise ourselves and sneak into the hospital tonight."

Abe chuckled at the thought. "As medical examiners?"

Jo nearly spat out a bite of her sandwich. "Yeah. I promised him that Mike and I would let him tag along when we visit tomorrow."

After they finished their sandwiches, Abe collected the plates and placed them in the sink. He turned around and saw Jo walk into the living room. The past two days had exhausted her both mentally and emotionally.

Abe joined her in the room. She turned around and hugged Abe, and he returned the gesture. "I appreciate everything you've done over the past couple of days. How can I ever thank you?"

 _Say "yes" when Dad pops the question_. "It was nothing. Dad would have done the same thing." A small smile lit up her face as she pulled away from him. "So, you're going back to your place tomorrow?"

"I was thinking more like the day he comes home from the hospital, if that's okay with you."

Abe nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'll be glad if you stayed a few more days."

"Thank you." Her droopy eyes and a touch of tiredness in her voice told Abe that she needed her rest. She dropped onto the sofa near a pillow and pulled the blanket on the other end toward her.

"Well, good night, Jo." Abe watched her lie down before he went to his room.

"Good night, Abe."

As Abe readied for bed, he smiled as he thought about Dad and Jo's relationship. Abe might have joked about Dad's ability to pick up women, but he knew that Dad's heart belonged to Jo, just as it did to Mom. Dad and Jo's relationship started with their investigation into a train crash which killed Dad and 15 others. When Dad mentioned her to Abe, Abe could see life coming back in Dad's eyes—life that was extinguished the day Mom left them due to the anti-aging part of Dad's condition. It was one of the reasons that Abe immediately trusted Jo. In spite of his reluctance to let anyone know about his immortality, Dad trusted Jo and eventually told her everything.

That deepened their relationship. Over the next few years, Dad and Jo became inseparable, even when they both dated other people. They could also easily talk each other into doing something for the other. As much as Dad had found his way around her defenses, Jo had found her way around his.

Honestly, Abe wanted to see them date and marry each other before his death. He knew that it was easier said than done. It was not just their work, or Abe, that interrupted them. In a way, Abe believed that his father was worried that Jo could be killed if he dated her. One particular death seemed to reinforce Dad's concern. One day, Adam fired a high-powered rifle into the antiques shop and killed Dad as he and Jo looked into each other's eyes. Dad's body stopped the bullet before it reached Jo. Abe knew that it would take time, and maybe a crisis, for the two of them to begin dating each other.

Actually, it wasn't just Jo who had become a member of the family. With each case and with Dad's eventual revelation about his condition, Mike and Lucas had become a part of it too. As for Lt. Reece, Abe was glad that she now knew of Dad's condition. Every time Abe spoke with her, though, he felt like he was in the principal's office. Abe knew that they cared about Dad and that they would be visiting him in the hospital over the next few days. That is, if cases didn't get in the way of the visits.

As Abe climbed into bed, he thought about how his father was faring. Abe could not shake Dad's panicked look from his mind. It was almost as if Dad was lost somewhere and could not find his way home. Abe dismissed the thought. It likely was caused by whatever happened to Dad.

Abe looked at the ticking clock. It was still early for him, but he knew that he had a long day tomorrow. He wanted to be with Dad when the doctor delivered Dad's test results. Abe closed his eyes, and, soon, the room's relative silence lulled him to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Two things: First, I apologize if the chapter seems long. The next chapter should be somewhat shorter. (I hope.) Second, there are indications throughout the season that Abe still calls Henry "Dad" in his heart and thoughts. When I wrote Abe's point of view, his calling Henry "Dad" in his thoughts just seemed natural to me, and that is what I went with. I hope that won't be too jarring for you. If so, please let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note** : I promised that I would make this a somewhat shorter chapter (about 4,700 words compared to 6,000 from the last chapter), and I managed to do so. I hope that you enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Henry woke up with the first rays of sunlight streaming through the window blinds. He definitely felt stronger than he did last night. Apparently, the nurse believed that he was also. When the nurse had checked his vitals and drew a blood sample in the middle of the night, she removed his oxygen hoses. Henry reached for the buttons and pushed one to elevate the head of his bed. He shifted his weight so that he could sit up straighter.

He looked around at his hospital room as the events of the previous night came back to him. He felt much calmer than he did just a few hours earlier. It likely was because of Abe's presence—family—when he woke up. Henry could not even imagine what it would be like to wake up with a total stranger beside his bed, or worse, no one there to provide the comfort and support he needed.

Henry heard a knock on the door. He looked at the ticking clock; it was seven in the morning. While he wondered who would be coming at this hour, a doctor appeared from behind the drawn curtain. He raised an eyebrow as he entered the room. The rubbing motion of his hands and the smell of alcohol signaled that he had just used the hand sanitizer near the sink. The doctor's wrinkled clothes and stubble indicated that he had spent the night at the hospital with a medical emergency.

"Mr. Morgan, my name is Dr. Patel. I'm going to be your neurologist while you're here in the hospital." The doctor's accent matched everyone Henry had come into contact with since last night. "I understand that you were brought in yesterday morning."

Henry nodded.

"Do you remember what happened?" Dr. Patel walked over to Henry's bed.

Henry swallowed and hoped that the doctor didn't notice. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that; I don't know myself. I asked the ma—my father what happened, and he didn't know."

Dr. Patel nodded, absorbing the information. "Well, let's see how you are doing. Could you swing your legs around for me?" Henry did as he was instructed, being careful not to pull the IV needle out of his hand. The doctor pushed on Henry's arms and legs, tapped his knees, had Henry smile and grimace, and tested Henry's grip.

"Okay, I'm going to have you stand up and walk." Dr. Patel placed his right hand on Henry's back. As Henry stood, the room spun around him, and he immediately fell back onto the bed.

"I guess I must be a little dizzy." Henry attempted a smile.

"Let's try that again." Dr. Patel helped Henry back up. This time, the dizziness stayed away. The doctor stayed with Henry as they began to walk. Henry felt that he was being treated like a child at first. The second he started walking, he was grateful for Dr. Patel's assistance. His legs felt as though they were unable to support his weight. Dr. Patel helped him to the door and back to the bed.

As Henry sat down on the bed, he decided to use this time to try to get some answers about his condition. "I understand that you've been running some medical tests on me. May I ask what you have found?"

The doctor grinned. "The nurses warned me about you. Well, the MRI on your brain and x-rays on your spinal column showed nothing remarkable. Your CBC was relatively unremarkable; your blood oxygen levels were slightly abnormal but nothing to worry about. We ran a toxicology screen and observed nothing in your blood. The strength in your arms and legs as well as your reflexes are excellent. Your gait is good, a little wobbly, but still good. There are no signs of subdural hematoma, stroke, drug overdose, or concussion."

"So, of this moment, my symptoms are idiopathic in nature?"

"I'm afraid so. But, they will pass in time. I want you to use a walker or to have someone help you walk today. I also want a psychological evaluation…"

Henry stiffened and braced himself on the bed. Dr. Patel continued, "It's to see if you have any memory issues and to determine the best treatment plan." Henry relaxed. "The psychiatrist should be here in a few hours. I also want to see about getting you something to eat." As Dr. Patel left the room, he drew the curtain back so that Henry could see the hospital staff when they came in.

Henry leaned back on the bed. Essentially, the medical tests showed nothing that would explain his memory loss. Henry wrinkled his brow as he replayed his conversation with the doctor. Henry was surprised that he recognized the medical terminology and used it fluently himself. He knew that, last night, the nurse mentioned that Abe told her that Henry would try to diagnose himself, but he thought nothing of it at the time. He could think of only four possibilities that could explain his knowledge. His parents were in the medical profession. He decided to enter it himself. A family member had a medical condition which forced him to learn it as a caregiver. Or, it could be some combination of the three other possibilities. Henry did not know which one was the most likely scenario, but just knowing them was a start.

If the cause was nothing physical in nature, then it would have to be psychological. He could not help but to think about how he stiffened when Dr. Patel mentioned a psychological evaluation. Did he have a bad experience with a psychiatrist once? He might have; that could explain his reaction. Not every psychiatrist should cause him to feel fear, though. Hopefully, the psychiatrist coming in could find something that could explain his memory loss and treat it.

 _Treat it_. Henry almost could not believe what he had heard and thought. Tears of joy began to flow. Only last night, he thought that he would have to live with this condition forever. Now, it could be gone in a matter of time. It would feel good to be able to remember the details of his past again.

Henry looked at the clock again. Five minutes had passed since Dr. Patel's visit. Henry found himself wishing that it was eleven o'clock already as Abe would be here then. Henry corrected himself; he should call Abe "Dad" once he arrived. He wanted to share the good news with the older man. Henry also wanted to ask him about his medical knowledge and about all of the facts that swirled in his head.

If Abe stayed the entire day with Henry, they would need more to talk about. Henry looked at the foot of his bed and saw a copy of the newspaper. Apparently, an orderly had left it earlier this morning. Henry leaned over and picked it up. Maybe a few news articles could give him an idea of what to talk about during the visit.

* * *

Lucas walked into the OCME that morning very well-rested. It was the first time in 72 hours that he had been able to sleep for longer than a few hours. The day that NYPD had Henry arrested again, Lucas had spent the entire day helping Dr. Kirk Roberts collect blood and tissues samples of the deceased for analysis. It usually took less than ten minutes to make the delivery. Lucas spent about half an hour to deliver the samples to the lab. Two police officers delivering evidence held up the line as they filled out several forms to maintain the chain of custody. When Lucas got home from work, he, admittedly, spent a few hours editing his latest horror film instead of sleeping.

The next day, Abe told the team that Henry hadn't come home to get a clean suit and some of Abe's delicious home-cooking. While Jo and Mike asked people who lived along Henry's route to the antiques shop about him, Lucas tweeted his friends about Henry's disappearance and asked them to let him know if they have seen him. Lucas checked his Twitter timeline every chance he got. During his breaks. While he walked around the office. While he waited to deliver Dr. Gustav Lebron's samples to the lab. In the bathroom. While he was driving. That last one would've earn him a _very_ stern lecture from Henry about how Lucas shouldn't have done that as he didn't have Henry's "superpower". Henry wouldn't phrase it that way. He would probably say that he didn't want to see Lucas on his autopsy slab or something like that. No matter the phrasing, the message just showed that Henry cared.

In his defense, Lucas had no choice but to check his timeline while driving. He spent the entire day yesterday helping Dr. Nate McNamara take bodies back to the OCME for examination. Some of that time wasn't spent on processing the scene of a person's death; it was spent being stuck in traffic. Lucas decided to use that time and a couple of minutes after they arrived at the scenes to check his timeline.

His final call to a scene came a few minutes after Nate left for the night. Lucas was jealous that Nate could leave early while he had to keep working. He had spent the past two days doing everything for the OCME and nothing to help Jo and Mike with their search for Henry. Over the phone, they reassured him that his tweet was helping them, but he felt as though he should be doing more to find his friend. Lucas had half a mind to leave early and to go upstairs to help the detectives.

Still, he relied on his paycheck to pay for his rent and the supplies for his films, so he went to the scene. When he arrived, he was so thrilled to see Jo and Mike there that he hugged Jo. He tried to hug Mike, but the detective thrown his hands up and backed away. After Abe had called to say that NYPD had found Henry, Lucas had taken a couple of minutes to tweet an update to his friends and to thank them for their help.

Lucas walked up to the bulletin board in the employee's break room. He hoped that he would have the day off. If so, he could call Abe, Jo, and Mike and let them know that he was going to visit Henry for a while and then head home for more rest. He scanned the work schedule and sighed. He didn't have the day off. In fact, he had to work for the next few days. Today, he was assigned to work with Dr. Jeff Newell. Working with Jeff wasn't bad. It was almost like working with Henry, only without Henry's thoroughness, stories from the past, and lack of knowledge about pop culture. Tomorrow, though, Lucas had to work with Dr. Washington. Lucas groaned at the thought. Every time they worked together, it always resulted in more paperwork for everyone, including NYPD.

Lucas reached for his cell phone to call Jo. As much as he wanted to visit Henry, he wasn't going to be able to make it for the next couple of days. Hopefully, he would be able to catch Henry when he got home.

* * *

About a couple of hours had passed. Henry finished the newspaper and placed it on the bed beside him. There were several events in Europe and the United States that piqued his interest, but he wasn't sure that it would pique Abe's. Henry glanced at the front page again. He saw the story of a fire in an apartment complex here in New York City. He hoped that Abe was okay and that he still had a place to live. Henry asked himself where _he_ lived. If he lived here in New York City, then he could have just read that _his_ residence had caught fire while he was away. He looked at the clock; there was about an hour left before Abe was due to arrive. He could ask Abe then about both of their homes.

Henry heard a knock at the door. A young lady with stiff hair pulled back in a ponytail walked into the room, cradling a notepad in her right arm. Instead of scrubs or a doctor's coat, she wore a business suit. Everything was perfectly in place; she had just arrived at the hospital about one-half hour ago. Apparently, this was the psychiatrist. Henry braced himself again.

"Hi. My name is Kimberley. I'm with the psychiatric department here at Bellevue." Her voice was overly cheerful for her profession, but it put Henry somewhat at ease. "Dr. Patel wanted me to see how your memory was doing."

She walked over to the computer and swung it toward her. She stood there for a few minutes and typed. She then asked Henry for his name and date of birth. Once she was satisfied, she pushed the computer back against the wall. She took a couple of steps and pulled a hospital table from behind Henry's bed. She pushed it to the chair and adjusted it before sitting down.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. This is just to see if you can remember where you are and to see how far back you can remember. Is that okay?"

Henry pulled his lips back in thought for a second. Apparently, she had no intention of hurting him. "Yes, it is."

As she asked the questions, Henry was relieved that they had nothing to do with his past. She asked him to recall a few words and a sequence of numbers. She asked him for the date and the President of the United States. He was glad that he read the newspaper earlier; otherwise, he would not have known it. She wrote his responses as he answered the questions.

"Okay, I now want to ask you a few questions about your past. What is your first memory?"

A cold sensation ran through Henry's body, and his heart began to race. The massive void of his memory threatened to overwhelm him again. He wished that this interview could have waited until after Abe arrived. Henry would have had time to ask the older man about what he was like when he was five or six years old. He looked at the closet and drawers to steady his emotions.

 _ **London, September 19, 1785**_

 _Henry looked over at the red dress lying on his bed. He didn't want to wear it ever again. Just yesterday, Jonathan D'Arcy and Hiram Swift had called him an "infant" and laughed as they ran off in their waistcoats and breeches. He, on the other hand, wanted to hide under Mother's hoop skirt and stay there until they arrived home. He knew he wasn't an infant; he could do everything that they could do. Yet, it was that dress that caused them to hurt his feelings._

 _He looked down at his new breeches and shirt. They were a gift from Father and Mother. Father said that he had wanted to give Henry a suit a couple of years earlier when Henry had unbuttoned the cuffs on his father's coat. The war with the Colonies and Father's desire to ship iron and textiles kept him from doing so. When Father presented Henry with his suit, Henry could see that it was almost like one his father wore. The only thing missing was Father's pocket watch. Henry happily took the clothes and ran up the stairs to his room so he could put them on._

 _Now, his shirt and breeches were unbuttoned while his new waistcoat laid beside his dress. He had put on the clothes easily. The buttons were more troublesome. He could push only half of the button through the hole. He just could not find a way to push it the rest of the way through it._

" _Henry?" Mother appeared in the threshold of his room. She pushed her hoop skirt down and walked into his room. "What is wrong, dear?" She sat down on his bed on the other side of his dress._

" _I cannot get the breeches fastened." Henry's voice wavered as he thought that Mother might suggest that he wore the dress again today._

 _She looked at his clothes and smiled. "You have done an excellent job so far." She reached over and took his new waistcoat off of his bed. "Your father would not want me to help you as he feels that you should be able to learn how to do this yourself. But I shall help." She took the buttons on the front and thread one through the buttonhole the way he had. "Now, allow me to show you something." She pushed the button down and through the hole._

 _Henry's eyes widened. So that was how one fastened the button. He immediately reached for a button on his breeches and repeated her action. The button went through the buttonhole. Excitedly, he pushed all of his buttons on his breeches and then his shirt through the holes._

 _Mother handed her his waistcoat. "Do you want me to help you with your waistcoat?"_

 _Henry grinned. "No, thank you. I can do it myself." He put on the waistcoat and buttoned it perfectly. In the candlelight and the sunlight of his room, he could tell she was smiling._

" _Come on. Let us go show your father what you have done." Mother rose from his bed._

 _Before she had the chance to say anything more, Henry ran through the door and toward the stairs. He could not wait to show everyone his new suit._

 _ **Bellevue, New York City, Present-Day**_

Just as suddenly as the vision appeared, it left. Henry wrinkled his brow. Everything and everyone in his vision were unfamiliar, yet he felt as though he should know them. The room's antique furniture, the lighting, and the clothes seemed to have suggested that it had occurred in an earlier time period. That was impossible; he was born in 1979. Henry knew that he would have to ask Abe about the things he saw in his daydream, if he could call his vision that, when he came to visit.

Henry looked back at Kimberley. She would not wait that long for a response. He took a deep breath and tried to think what was popular in 1984 and 1985. One thing came to him, and he thought that it would be worth a try.

"I was six years old at the time. My parents and I were preparing for a community production of _A Christmas Carol_. I had some difficulty putting on my costume, and my mother showed me how to put it on." It wasn't a perfect explanation, but it would have to do.

He studied her face. She seemed to be deep in thought. Henry suddenly realized that she might ask him to describe the details in the daydream. The cold sensation ran through him again. If he were to describe exactly what he saw, she might transfer him to the psychiatric ward for further evaluation.

She looked at him and smiled. "Cool!" Apparently, his answer satisfied her. "So, what else do you remember?"

Henry thought for a minute. He knew that he would have to come up with something as he had no memories dating to any time prior to last night.

"I was born overseas. My mother's British, and my father's American. We came to the United States when I was very young. Dad owned a shipping company, and Mum was a nurse. We're very active in the community. A couple of neighborhood boys teased me when I was younger, but I learned to overcome it with the help of my parents. When I was older, I decided to follow in my mother's footsteps. I became employed at a physician's office here in New York City, and I have been working there ever since."

When he finished, he was surprised that he had come up with a story that quickly. He could trace every detail of his story back to its source, whether it was from his observations and assumptions, a newspaper article, or his daydream. He, however, had no idea why he selected those exact details for the story. Apparently, storytelling was second nature to him.

She spent a few minutes taking notes. When she finished, she laid her notepad down on the table and looked at him. "Well, we're done here. I'll let Dr. Patel know what I have found." She rolled the table toward his bed and parked it beside him. She then picked up her belongings and headed for the door.

As soon as she reached the threshold, Henry heard Abe's voice say, "Hey, Kimberley!"

Henry turned in time to see Abe appear in the hallway near the door. Kimberley stepped into the hallway, and they hugged each other.

"How're you doing? It's been a while since I last saw you."

She chuckled. "Yeah, I know." Abe smiled. "Well, I'm working here as a psychiatrist now." She paused for a minute, and her eyes widened. "I just met Henry a few minutes ago."

"Yeah, so?" Abe leaned forward. He seemed eager to hear what she had to say. Henry leaned forward on his bed as well. He leaned so far that he almost rolled off of it.

Kimberley pressed her lips together, almost as if she was trying to decide whether to talk to him about the interview. "I was assigned to evaluate his memory. Um…look, I need to confirm a couple of things. What do you know about his past?"

Abe grew very somber, and his shoulder hunched a little bit. "Not a lot. His parents died when he was younger, and he hadn't mentioned much about his past to me."

She pressed her lips together again. "You would think that he would have mentioned something about it to his roommate."

Henry rolled back onto the bed. His mouth dropped opened, and tears began to form in his eyes. His hope for a father-son relationship with Abe instantly died.

He could hear the pair talk for a couple of minutes, but he wasn't paying attention. He still had no idea who Abe was and how they were connected to each other. As far as Henry knew, Abe could have been someone who found him on the street and claimed to be his father. Then again, Abe could have caused his hospitalization. That thought sent another cold sensation through Henry's body.

Abe's footsteps interrupted Henry's thoughts. "Hey, Henry. I just ran into your psychiatrist. I dated her mother a couple of years back. She's a nice girl. Her mother wasn't bad either."

Henry felt anger rising in him and the cold feeling growing stronger. This stranger had to leave his room now. Henry reached for the call button to summon the nurse so she could escort the gentleman out.

* * *

Jo found herself looking at the clock for the fifth time in the last half-hour. Whoever said that time flies was likely immortal. At the rate time was passing for her, she would be finished with all of her paperwork for the week by the time she had the chance to visit Henry.

This morning when Jo had arrived at work, the lieutenant called Jo and Mike into her office. She asked a couple of questions about Henry's condition. Then, she told them that she wanted them to spend the next three hours doing paperwork. When hospital visiting hours started, they were to go there to interview Henry. With a smile threatening to cross her face, the lieutenant let them know that she had given them the opportunity for a social visit with him.

Jo looked at the clock again. It was finally eleven. She rose from her desk and pulled her coat off the back of her chair.

Her eyes caught Mike looking up at her. "It's finally time to visit Doc?" She smiled and nodded as he put away his paperwork. He stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair.

Mike stared at her with one eyebrow raised. He must have noticed that Jo hadn't pulled out her cell phone. "Don't you need to call Lucas?"

Jo could have slapped her head for not telling Mike earlier. She was so focused on her paperwork for the last three hours. "He called me earlier this morning. The OCME had him assigned to Dr. Newell today. He also mentioned that he had no idea who was handling the body that was found in the burnt unit last night."

"When are they going to hire more medical examiner assistants? We need our guy back."

Jo could not agree more. The office had been shorthanded since a couple of assistants quit; one had worked with Dr. Washington. Lucas had been scheduled to have the two days that Henry was missing off, but he found himself working for nine days straight instead. Today would have been a nice break for him.

Jo smiled as she thought of Lucas' possible visit with Henry. "I really want him to join us. But, you do realize that we need to find a way to tell Lucas to shut up when he starts talking too much?"

"I think one of your murderous glares should do it."

"I do not..." The ring of Jo's phone at her desk interrupted Jo. She stepped over to her desk and answered it.

"Jo?" The detective assigned to the NYPD tip line that day had an urgent tone of voice.

"Yes?"

"There's a phone call for you. An Eric Rowell wants to speak with you."

"What about?"

"It's about the burnt body found in the apartment unit last night."

Jo sighed. There was a very good chance that his story would generate more leads, which would take all day to follow. She knew that she would have to call Abe the second the officer left to let him know that they wouldn't be coming today.

"Put him through."

* * *

Henry looked over at the man. A concerned look crossed his face. "Henry, are you okay?" Abe's voice conveyed a touch of worry.

The gray hair and the wrinkles on Abe's face reminded Henry of the man's age. Henry dropped his hand away from the button and settled back on the bed.

Henry sighed. He didn't mean to upset Abe. "Yeah. I guess I'm just a little tired from my day so far."

Henry watched as Abe walked over to the chair and sat down. Abe placed his hand over Henry's. Henry felt his hand tense, but it automatically relaxed as the older man laced his fingers around Henry's.

Abe looked Henry in the eye. "You'll get over it. I know it." Abe sounded certain that Henry's condition was temporary.

Henry looked at Abe. Somehow, his words and his display of affection seemed to put the younger of the two at ease. Abe certainly acted like Henry was a part of his family. Henry hoped that he might be able to, one day, think of Abe in the same way. His only question was how to start.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : What I described in Henry's flashback was a breeching (and, yes, on his birthday). It was a rite of passage for boys from the 1500s to about 1918, when clothing for children became universal. Generally, the age in which breeching occurred was determined by the boy's ability to unbutton his own pants. It could be as early as age two or as late as age eight. For the story, I decided that Henry was probably age four when he was able to do it. He strikes me as the type who would have reach childhood milestones much earlier than his peers when he was a child. (I got my information from Wikipedia when I was researching clothing from the 1700s and 1800s for the story. That's how I know about this.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Author's Note** : This was supposed to have been a part of chapter 3. After seeing how long that chapter was getting, I decided to split the chapter in half.

I also want to thank Kythe for pointing out something that was apparently confusing in the last chapter. I know that there is a discrepancy between the age in which Henry first unbuttoned his father's cuffs (age 4) and when he received his first suit (age 6). I will be covering the reason for the discrepancy in a later chapter as it's a plot point.

* * *

Jo connected with the line her colleague had mentioned. "Hello?"

"Hello." The man on the other end sounded a little hesitant. "My name is Eric Rowell. I own the apartment complex that caught fire last night."

"Yes. What about it?"

"May I ask what happened? The newspaper said that someone had died in the fire."

Jo held the phone away from her and groaned. The NYPD had not released that information to the public, and neither she nor Mike had seen anyone from the press around the building last night. Lucas would be the most likely member of the OCME to talk to the media. Since his leak to the press about Gloria Carlisle's death, however, he had been much more cautious with the media as he didn't want to sacrifice his and Henry's reputations. Jo realized that the FDNY was the source of the leak.

"How did you find out about it?"

"I saw a link to an article in the newspaper in my Facebook timeline this morning. I've been out of town visiting relatives in Houston. One of my cousins died, and we've been helping with the funeral arrangements."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Jo bit her lower lip in thought for a minute. It seemed inappropriate to continue the interview after that revelation, but Jo knew that she had to. She pulled a notepad closer to her and found a pen. "May I ask you who owned the apartment units that caught fire?"

"I remember a Dean Brewster renting one of the units a few years back. He sublet it to someone else; I don't know who. As for the other, I can't tell you who rented the apartment without looking at the contracts."

"How long will you be gone?" She preferred that Mr. Rowell voluntarily provided them with the information that they needed. That way, all parties involved could be held blameless in case the case went south. Otherwise, she and Mike would have to obtain a warrant, and she knew that they did not have any evidence that would convince the judge to give them one.

"I'll be back on Monday."

Mr. Rowell's response made Jo sigh. That was too long to wait, but she had no other choice.

"Okay. Please call us and let us know when you have arrived back in New York."

After she hung up, she looked at Mike. He was leaning on her desk, his hands spread about shoulder-width apart. "It's going to be a long day, huh?"

Jo nodded before she filled him in on the phone call. Mike went to his desk and began to work on finding contact information on Brewster. She pulled out her cell phone out of her pocket and quickly dialed Abe's.

"Hi, Abe." Jo began when she heard Abe's voice. From the background sounds, she could tell that he was in the hospital's elevator. She sighed before continuing. "Listen, we're not going to be able to make it today."

"What happened?" There was a tinge of worry in his voice.

"We got a lead in the apartment complex fire from last night."

Jo could hear Abe give it a moment's thought. At breakfast this morning, they discussed the team's visit with Henry. As much as it would have embarrassed Henry because of the fuss made over him, Jo and Abe agreed that it would be beneficial for everyone.

"Just make it when you can. If you can't come while he's here, you know where we live."

"Thanks."

The second she hung up, Lt. Reece called her into her office. Jo explained the situation. Both women agreed that, for the sake of the department, Jo and Mike were to begin work on the investigation.

After she returned to her desk, Jo began a background check on Mr. Rowell and began the process of obtaining financial information on his apartment complex. In a way, she hoped that they would be able to uncover information that would allow the judge to grant them the warrant for the contracts before Friday evening. If they could not find anything, Jo knew that it was going to be a long weekend chasing the people who've sublet the apartment.

* * *

As Abe settled into the chair, he mentioned something about a few people being unable to visit. Henry wasn't paying attention, though. He felt guilty for his reaction to Abe's entrance into the room; his memory loss gave him no excuse to treat Abe that way. Henry admitted to himself that he wanted the ability to reciprocate Abe's connection with him. Family, both biological and chosen, shared interests and experiences. He and Abe had nothing in common, at least nothing that Henry remembered. That had been stolen from him.

Henry suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Could you please assist me to the WC?" A puzzled look crossed Abe's face. "I'm under doctor's orders to have someone accompany me while I walk today." Abe got up and walked with him to the room.

The need to use it gave Henry some time to think and to compose himself even more. He needed to talk to someone about the issues he had. Honestly, he wanted someone to help him remember, just like the woman had helped in his daydream. As Abe did not much about his past, his parents would know about it. Henry swallowed and fought back tears as he realized that death had stolen that option from him years ago.

A psychiatrist would then be the person to ask if there were no others. Henry did _not_ want to endure another psychiatric evaluation yet; this one had unnerved him. If the amnesia was caused by a psychological issue, he preferred to find the trigger first so that he would not be unnerved by the psychiatric evaluation. That is, unless the trigger was already removed; then, he would need time to recover his memories. He gave his memory issues two weeks to be resolved before he scheduled an appointment with the psychiatrist to discuss his memory.

Henry pulled the IV pole closer to the sink and began to wash his hands, being careful not to soak the dressing. For the next two weeks, he would have to learn about his past on his own by finding something that would remind him of it. He smiled a bit as he realized that Abe should know some things about him. After all, they were roommates. He could learn everything he can from Abe.

Henry became frightened by the thought of his questions and any mention of his daydream upsetting Abe again. Henry resolved to try to act as normally as possible, whatever that was, so that he wouldn't hurt Abe anymore. That meant that he would not ask Abe any questions about his past; he would have to learn about his past by hearing him mention it.

Henry opened the door and saw Abe standing near it. Abe helped him back to the bed. As Henry adjusted himself on it, Abe settled back into the chair. "Are you done with the newspaper? I haven't read it yet."

"Yes, certainly." Henry saw the old man pick it up and read the front page.

Abe read for a couple of minutes before commenting. "It's a shame about the person who died in the apartment fire. Hopefully, they catch the guy who did it." Henry looked at Abe, his eyes slightly widened. Abe was reading one of the articles he had been interested in discussing. In fact, his comment indicated that their residence was undamaged.

"If it were arson. Most apartment complexes here have been built before and during the 1950s. The owners would not replace faulty furnaces and wiring to keep in compliance with the building codes, even when it's necessary. Nor could they control renters' behavior in overloading circuits, leaving hot plates on, or even placing metal in microwaves." _How did I know that?_

Abe chuckled. "I see that you're feeling better already." Apparently, that was normal for Henry.

As Abe read a few articles, Henry began to relax and to discuss them with Abe. Henry could imagine the two of them sitting at the table discussing current events over a meal. He had trouble seeing their residence, but, for the time being, it didn't matter. In a way, this felt like home already.

Just as Abe picked up the sports page, the cafeteria worker came with Henry's lunch tray. She set the tray down on the table near Henry. Abe stood and pulled it around. Two plates, a wheat roll, a bowl of condiments, and a covered mug with a coffee aroma streaming from it were arranged on the tray as to minimize wasted space. The smaller of the two plates had a piece of white cake with white frosting on it. Henry lifted the lid on the mug and on the plate. The mug's contents confirmed the coffee. On the larger plate were green beans and something which resembled chicken and noodles covered with a white, chunky-looking sauce.

Abe grimaced. "What is that?"

Henry picked up the meal ticket. "According to this, it's supposed to be chicken Alfredo."

Abe reached over and took a sample of the dish just as Henry took his first bite. Abe grimaced after his bite. "I thought that hospitals were about saving lives, not taking them. That bite alone could send my blood pressure through the roof. Too much salt."

Henry smiled. Anything that Abe cooked had to be better tasting than this. That is, unless Henry was the better chef. He would have to see when he returned to their residence.

"I was not expecting this." Henry picked up another bite of the entrée. Abe went back to reading the newspaper.

"Well, emergency departments usually don't know what the food is like on the floors."

 _Emergency department_. That would explain Abe's lack of knowledge about Henry's childhood. The erratic scheduling and the constant flow of patients would have prevented them from having time to talk. Even if they did have time, illnesses, injuries, and deaths refused to stop long enough to allow them to share more details from their lives.

Henry studied Abe for a minute. "Abe, why are you here?"

The old man lowered the newspaper and looked at him with a serious expression on his face. "Some things are more important." He then smiled for the first time since Henry woke up.

"Well, things at the shop have been slow for the past couple of days." Abe paused for a second, and the smile faded. He arched his eyebrows and slouched slightly in the chair. "While you were gone, I sold the Tiffany lamp that you had near the phone, two French porcelain vases, and the late 18th Century game table near the door of our 'office'."

For some reason, Abe's expression made Henry think of a son in trouble with his father. Henry felt he had to say something to calm his thoughts. "Oh, that's great."

Abe raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth in surprise. "No questions about who I sold it to or what they want to do with it?"

"No, I trust you completely." Henry was just as surprised about this conversation as Abe. His question about Abe's presence was to establish the nature of their relationship. To his surprise, Henry had learned that the two men were co-owners of an antiques shop. He had no idea how he balanced running a business with being a nurse in the emergency department. He would find out when he returned to work again.

Henry managed to eat his atrocious chicken Alfredo and the more flavorful green beans. Before he could pick up his roll to eat it, he heard a groan coming from the room next door. Several voices, all speaking a language other than English, surged in volume and intensity. Henry pushed his table away and swung his legs over the bed. Abe quickly joined him, apparently sensing his desire to help the person. Henry used his IV pole to steady himself as he and Abe headed for the door.

They stepped into the hallway. The doctors and nurses seemed to have vanished. A light flashed over a door across the hallway and four doors to the left. Four cubicles with Plexiglas walls sat in the middle of the hallway; their computers and desks were as empty as the corridor itself. Henry walked into his neighbor's room. A man of Latino descent laid on the bed, groaning in pain. Two women, both of European descent, stood beside it, their backs to the door. A young African-American boy, no older than six, sat in the chair between the bed and the wall. The boy had tears in his eyes. In spite of their appearance, Henry could see that they were a family.

" _¿Es tu estómago otra vez?_ " The younger looking woman sounded worried.

" _Disculpame._ " The women turned around and looked at Henry in surprise as someone could speak their language. " _¿Pueden Ustedes decirme lo que está pasando aquí?_ "

"I was playing football in the park with several of my friends a couple of days ago. One of them rammed me in the stomach with his head." The man on the bed spoke each word between pained breaths. "Yesterday, I became weak on my right side, and my speech sounded awful, so we came here. The doctors told me that I had a mild stroke."

"When did the pain start?"

"Yesterday."

Henry swallowed. Certainly, someone in the emergency department should had noticed the man's symptoms. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-eight."

Surprised, Henry looked at the man. He was far too young to have a stroke.

The young boy's sniffles caused Henry to look at him. In some ways, the boy reminded Henry of Abe last night. "Courage. Your father is a strong man, and he will get through this. You have my word." The boy stared at Henry, who offered a smile. The older woman walked around the bed to the boy. He rose from the chair, and his grandmother held him in her arms.

Henry looked back at the man. Abdominal pain never accompanied stroke symptoms. He pressed down on the man's abdomen on the left side between the stomach and the rib cage. The man winced in pain. A couple of more presses in the same area provided Henry with the information he needed. The final one sent a wave of dizziness over him.

Henry turned to see Abe, but the older man was not there. Henry closed his eyes and grabbed the bed rail to fight the dizziness. Abe knew that he was under doctor's orders to have someone accompanying him in his walks. Furthermore, Henry needed someone to assist him in surgery if it came to that.

Just then, Abe appeared in the hallway with a nurse and a doctor. Henry wished that the two were his nurse from last night and Dr. Patel. It would make this easier. Henry clutched the bedrail harder as a wave of nausea came at the same time the dizziness left him.

"This man needs surgery now." Henry was surprised to hear himself. He wasn't sure what was more surprising, hearing himself switch back to English or challenging the doctor's authority.

The doctor spoke up. "Why? He's a stroke patient."

"He has a ruptured spleen, which caused his stroke. Apparently, the nurses and doctors in the emergency department missed the abdominal pain in the upper left quadrant." Henry wrinkled his brows. Nurses never made life-saving diagnoses; doctors did.

The nurse looked at Abe. "Can you do something about him?"

Abe looked at her with the same serious expression he had given Henry earlier. "I've seen this before, and he's usually right. He's a doctor. He's so good that I had to ask the hospital staff to use the medical terminology around him."

The doctor looked first at Abe and then at Henry. He walked over to the man and conducted his own examination.

The nurse's stern voice interrupted Henry's plans to follow the doctor's examination. "It's time for both of you to leave. _Now_." The nurse waited until Henry reached the door, and she escorted them back to the room. She kept an eye on Henry as he climbed back into bed. "If he dies, this hospital will sue you both for all you're worth."

As she left, Henry and Abe looked at each other. Neither man spoke for a minute. Henry listened as the doctor ordered a stretcher to take the patient to surgery. Henry looked over at Abe and saw the older man watching the threshold now.

The old man's voice broke the silence. "You know, you've just saved his life."

Henry sighed. "Fate may have other plans. Only time can tell."

Henry looked at his tray beside the bed. Because of his nausea, he could not eat any more of his meal. He wasn't sure what had caused it. It could have been related to his other symptoms, or it could have been his worries for the man and his family. He had his life in front of him. His family obviously cared for him, and they did not deserve to suffer the pain of losing their son, husband, and father.

Henry looked back at Abe, who had picked up the newspaper again. Abe was a complete stranger, so it should not matter what Henry thought of him. Yet, he found himself wanting to protect Abe's feelings and enjoying Abe's company. Henry wondered if he had started to consider the old man as family already. Only time would tell if he was.

* * *

Lucas looked at the autopsy table. If it didn't already had a body on it, it would have made an excellent bed. He, however, might be mistaken for a corpse if he used it to get some sleep.

Lucas knew that he was well-rested when he came to work this morning. His ten hours of sleep last night left him feeling ready to conquer the world. After five hours of work, he was surprised at how fast the fatigue caught up to him. He was sure that his sleepiness wasn't connected to the past 72 hours.

He and Jeff had been working to determine the cause of a 24-year-old woman who was found dead five blocks from Baruch College. The unis had witnesses who stated that she was drunk, and they believed that she was a victim of a hit-and-run. Jeff agreed with the officers. Lucas wondered why she had no smell of alcohol on her breath. The two men opened her, and Lucas spotted signs of type 1 diabetes on her kidneys and pancreas. He then pitched the theory that she had a hypoglycemic episode while trying to cross the street. Lucas might had been half-asleep, but, at least, he could still function.

Lucas let out a yawn.

Jeff, a middle-aged man with spiked black hair, a goatee, and hipster-style glasses, stopped his stitching and looked at the young man. "You look like a member of _The Walking Dead_."

"I feel like one."

"You've been working for how many days now?"

"Nine." _That explains my sleepiness._

"When's your next day off?"

"I don't know. I have to work with Dr. Washington tomorrow. After that, I don't know who I'll be working with. The schedule had TBD written next to my name." Over the past two weeks, Lucas and his fellow assistants rotated among the medical examiners to prevent backlogs. Jeff's usual assistant was helping Dr. Washington with his self-imposed backlog today.

"Well, you'll be working with Morgan when he gets back. By the way, how is he?"

 _Wow! Word spreads fast around here, just like it does with NYPD_. "His roommate told me that he woke up last night. I was supposed to visit him today."

In a way, Lucas was a bit hurt that Jo and Mike hadn't called him yesterday morning to let him know that the NYPD had found Henry. Instead, Lucas found out from Jo last night when he arrived at the scene. As Lucas pushed the charred body back to the van, Abe called him with the good news. Lucas was grateful for Abe's call as he knew that Lucas had been busy the past few days. It still would have been nice if Jo called too.

"That stinks."

"Yeah." Lucas pulled off his gloves and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He scrolled through his call list to see if Jo or Mike had called him before Abe did. It took Lucas a minute, but he found Jo's call from yesterday morning. That explained the buzzing he had felt when he used the bathroom in a service station. He thought that it was a Twitter notification. _Oops_.

Lucas' curiosity about the charred body got the better of him. In a way, it looked like a body out of one of his horror films, or one of his horror-erotic films, depending on his mood. "Speaking of bodies, do you know what happened to the body I brought in last night?"

"I've been told that Morgan's supposed to work on it when he got back, though."

"Really?" Lucas could not believe his ears. He grinned. _Me and Henry working on the body, like Tonto and the Lone Ranger, Holmes and Watson, Kirk and Spock. Actually, it would be Kirk, Spock, and Bones, but we don't have a third person working with us in the morgue_.

Jeff looked at his temporary assistant. "Take an hour-long lunch break. Use some of it to take a nap. I don't need people around here to mistake you for a zombie."

"Thank you!" Lucas quickly discarded his gloves and headed straight for the break room. He could not stop grinning. In just a few days, he and Henry would be joining Jo and Mike on their case.

His excitement, however, could not ward off his sleepiness. The second he reached the break room, he looked at the cot to see if anyone was occupying it. He saw that it was empty, and he sat down on it. He set his alarm on his phone for thirty minutes and went to sleep.

* * *

Two hours later, Abe suggested that they should walk down the hallway. Henry agreed to it as it would provide a change in scenery. Their first steps into the hallway revealed that, unlike their last excursion past the room, the hallway teemed with nurses and doctors.

Henry looked over at Abe as they walked toward the other end of the hallway. "So, how do you know Kimberley?"

"I met her mother on eHarmony a couple of years ago." Henry raised his eyebrows while Abe looked forward. "Kimberley had been attending the University of Michigan—Ann Arbor at the time. When she came home, her mother introduced her to me."

"What happened to the relationship?" A female nurse in pink scrubs came from behind them and placed her hand on the IV pump as she passed.

"Believe it or not, her mother didn't think of me as much of a ladies' man." Henry's wrinkled brows silenced the older gentleman before he could give more details.

Henry nodded at two female nurses standing in the entrance of one of the cubicles. As they passed, they heard one of the nurses say "Oh, man" with a pleasantly surprised voice. Both men took a few more steps past the cubicles and stopped. Henry craned his head as far as it could go while Abe leaned back to look where the nurses were looking. The nurse who placed Henry in the gown yesterday had tied the cords properly. A gap in the fabric, however, exposed Henry's posterior. Henry reached his free hand around his back to see if he could close the gap manually. Before he had the chance, his eyes landed on the top of the IV pump. He reached over and picked up a piece of paper lying on it. He unfolded it and saw that it was a phone number for the nurse who passed them earlier.

Henry chuckled. "Apparently, I just picked up a nurse against your orders."

"Well, that charm of yours tends to attract the ladies."

Henry looked for a place to put the slip of paper. He couldn't place it back on the IV pole, so he placed it in his gown's front pocket. He then reached back and attempted to use his free hand to close the gown properly. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Abe smile.

As they walked a little further down the hallway, Henry saw Dr. Patel walking toward them. "Mr.—I should say, Dr.—Morgan, it's nice to see you up and walking around. This must be your father."

"Yes, I am." Abe spoke before Henry had the chance to deny it. Henry glared at Abe, who ignored him.

"Come this way." Dr. Patel motioned for them to join him in one of the cubicles. He pulled a chair around for Henry to sit in. Henry gratefully took it as another wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. This time, it was accompanied with a headache.

Dr. Patel leaned back on the desk. "Well, I read the psychiatrist's notes, and she did not see anything wrong with your memory. As there is nothing wrong with you, I do not see why we need to keep you any longer than necessary. You can go home tomorrow."

 _Tomorrow_. That was too early. "What if I begin to experience other physical symptoms, such as headaches and nausea?"

"I would suggest that you treat them the same way you usually do. If they last longer than a week, then you should follow up with your physician." Dr. Patel looked at Abe. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, none." Abe extended his hand to the doctor. Dr. Patel took it and shook it. "Thanks."

Henry wanted to ask the doctor about his neighbor's condition. "Dr. Patel…" The concept of patient-doctor confidentiality stopped him. "Thank you."

"Well, I guess this will be the last time that I'll see you."

Henry rose from his chair and finished his walk with Abe in silence. Apparently, Dr. Patel did not seem to think that Henry's headache, nausea, and dizziness were serious enough to require an additional day's stay to determine their cause.

He sighed as he and Abe walked back into the room and settled down. "Why don't you go home for a couple of hours, Abe? You look like you need some rest."

Abe rose from his seat and put on his coat. "I'm not turning you down on your offer." Abe placed his hand over Henry's as he passed by him. Henry wrapped his fingers around Abe's in return. "I'm coming back later today, though. This time, with clothes."

As he watched Abe leave, Henry sighed in resignation. His headache and nausea was the least of his worries. He was more worried about being released from the hospital tomorrow. He and Abe being together under the same roof could create the conditions necessary for them to form a new family. It could also bring out the men's differences and increase the risk for conflict. Henry hoped that their relationship would survive whatever conflicts did spring up from the close quarters. He had lost so many important relationships already. This was one that he did not want to lose.

Henry felt his headache growing stronger. He did not want to call a nurse for pain medication. He did not even know what medicine would help it. Maybe the best thing that he could do was to sleep it off. He closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep.

* * *

Mike finished his phone call and sighed. As far as Mike knew, this case seemed to hinge on their ability to speak with the 14 families displaced by the fire. Usually, in criminal cases like this, the Red Cross representatives would allow them to access a list of those who have been displaced so they could talk to the witnesses. One representative in particular, Ursula, usually refused to let them see it without a warrant. Every time they called the organization, they never knew who they would get. This time, the news wasn't good.

Jo standing at his desk interrupted his thoughts. She was dressed in her coat again. He looked at his watch. It was past eight o'clock at night. Another day had passed, and they still had not seen Henry. The man had been wondering if they were ever coming to see him.

"The background checks that I ran on Rowell and the apartment complex won't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. I also phoned the FDNY fire marshal, and he had just started his investigation today. How about you?"

"So far, I haven't found anything on Brewster yet, and I just spoke with the Red Cross. Ursula handled the refugees this time."

Jo groaned. They didn't have the evidence needed for the warrant.

Mike rose from his seat and pulled on his coat. "I don't know. We're missing our groove this case." Mike knew exactly why. If Doc were here, he would have already determined exactly who they needed to talk to.

"Tell me about it." Jo bit her lower lip as they walked silently toward the elevator. Even if it didn't involve Henry, this case was obviously upsetting Jo.

Mike looked at Jo. "I don't mean to pry, but where are you staying?"

Jo looked around, almost like she didn't want anyone to overhear her. "I couldn't stay at my place, so I've been staying with Abe. He's been keeping an eye on my alcohol intake."

"So, you're going back tonight?" It wasn't a question; he knew she was.

Jo smiled and nodded. "Abe called to say that Henry will be coming home tomorrow. I'll be leaving in the morning."

"That's great. About Doc, not about you leaving his and Abe's tomorrow morning. So, we'll be able to see him at home then. Have you told Lucas yet?"

"I called him a few minutes ago; he just was leaving the OCME. He yelled so loudly that I had to hold my phone away from my ear." Jo chuckled at the memory.

The elevator came, and they stepped into it, discussing ways to keep Lucas from exhausting Henry or annoying him the next time they saw him. Lucas' talkative nature could do that to anyone.

As Mike drove home, he found himself relieved that Jo had not been by herself over the past few days. After Sean died, Mike saw Jo cut herself off from everyone around her. That is, everyone but Mike, and that was because of their work. Then, Henry came along. He certainly was not Mike's first choice as a friend, or as someone more, for Jo. The medical examiner was just too weird, too cocky, and too much of a know-it-all; Jo was sensible and normal. They, however, connected very well, especially after she learned of Doc's immortality. Mike had to admit that Jo seemed much happier now that Henry had come along. Doc's disappearance had threatened to send her back to that dark place she occupied when she lost Sean. Abe's presence and shared concerns apparently kept her from going there.

This was also one rare time that Mike hugged Karen and their sons tighter every time he came home. The past couple of days were terrifying for Mike, and he was involved in the search. Mike's gunshot scared Karen, and that was a flesh wound. He couldn't even begin to imagine how his family would feel if Mike were in Henry's place. He hoped that he and his family would never go through that.

Mike pulled into his driveway and walked into his residence. Mike greeted Karen with a kiss and the good news about Henry before changing clothes. For the first time in days, Mike could relax and play with his sons as usual. Tomorrow would come in a few hours, and he would not be allotted the opportunity to rest as the need to serve justice awaited him.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Unfortunately, we haven't had the chance to learn every language Henry speaks (yet). So, I decided that maybe he might have learned Spanish at one point in his life. For those who don't understand it, the conversation went:

"Is it your stomach again?"

"Excuse me. Can you tell me what is happening?"

Also, if anyone wants to know Abe's take on the situation so far, it'll be in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note** : I promised that you would see Abe's response to the rest of Henry's stay in the hospital. It's here in this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Henry looked at the clock. It was about ten thirty in the morning. He let out a deep breath. Today's the day that he would be going home with Abe. On the one hand, he wished that he could stay in the hospital for another couple of more days. His headache, dizziness, and nausea finally eased last night before he went to sleep. His instinct, if he could call it that, told him that the doctors needed to determine the cause of yesterday's symptoms so that he could make a full recovery.

A case could also be made for the amnesia as a memory test would not determine a psychological cause for it. Returning home, though, would be the perfect opportunity to determine it. The two men's daily routine, his friends, and his work all could produce clues to his psychological state before his hospitalization. Something should indicate the trigger for his condition, if one existed.

He sighed and looked to the drawers which held the clothes Abe brought with him yesterday afternoon. It wasn't just his condition itself that worried Henry. He was terrified that he would hurt Abe again. After the initial scare yesterday, Abe's visit went remarkably well. Henry wasn't sure how long their mutual amicability would last. Even if Henry kept the amnesia well hidden, Abe would eventually notice the difference between the Henry Morgan he knew and this one. Henry had no idea how Abe would react once he found out about the memory issues. A defensive reaction could result in Henry's worst fear: the dissolution of their relationship.

On the other hand, Henry surprised himself by looking forward to returning home. For him, it would be the chance to find a way to "adopt" Abe. He would reunite with friends and colleagues. He might meet the Jo he heard Abe call two nights ago. He looked at his bare ring finger on his left hand. Apparently, it might also be the chance to find the love of his life.

He heard a knock on the door. "Come in."

A young lady with red hair in pigtails and green blue scrubs opened the closed door and drew back the curtain. The slight hunch of her shoulders and the wristwatch on her left hand indicated that she was a computer user who suffered from frequent pain in her left shoulder. "I heard you're going home today. Let's see about freeing you from this." Smiling, she pulled his IV needle out of his hand and placed a cotton ball on it before taping it. "I've heard about doctors being the worst patients, but you've been a perfect one."

Henry felt his cheeks grow slight warm. "Thank you." He smiled.

"You're welcome." She smiled back at him. "Well, I'll return later with the release forms, and you can go home. Hopefully, it would be before lunch, but don't count on it." She turned and walked out of the room.

His thoughts drifted back to lunch yesterday. He wondered if his neighbor survived the night. Henry might had memory issues, but he was certain that he did not believe in fate. The uncertainty over his neighbor's condition, however, left him to its mercy.

He suddenly heard a knock at the door. To his surprise, he looked and saw his neighbor's mother standing in the threshold with a bouquet of flowers in her hands. The second she saw him, she smiled and walked in the door. He sat up straighter so he could greet her.

"Doctor, I know that it isn't visiting hours yet, but I wanted to come by and thank you for your help with Frank."

Henry studied her for a second. Nothing in her body language told him the man's condition. "May I ask how he is?"

She smiled. "He's resting now. Since the surgeon removed his spleen, he's been doing much better. The surgeon said that, if we waited another fifteen minutes…" Her voice cracked at the thought of her son dying in his prime. She took a second to compose herself. She held the bouquet out to him. "Please take this as our way of saying thank you."

He reached out and took them. "I am glad to hear that he is doing well." He thought for a minute. "How...?"

The woman smiled at him. "If you're asking about our family, it's okay. I'm used to it. My husband and I adopted Frank—his real name is Francis—from the foster care system when he was two years old. His mother abandoned him, and his father was not in the picture. We raised him to the best of our abilities. While Frank was in college, he met Evelyn. After they got married, they adopted Ezekiel."

"A parent's love knows no bounds." He smiled as he said it. Yesterday, Henry believed that Abe's fatherly love had kept him by his bedside during his time of crisis.

She studied his face for a second. "How do you know Spanish?"

Henry raised his eyebrows. He needed to think of something, fast. "I learned it when I was younger."

"My husband and I served in the Peace Corps, in Mexico, right out of college. When we adopted Frank, we decided to raise him to speak bilingually so that he would know his heritage. After Frank and Evelyn adopted Ezekiel, they made it a tradition." She looked at her watch. "Well, I must go to the ICU. Everyone's waiting for me. Thank you again for saving Frank's life." She turned and walked out the door.

Henry admired the bouquet for a second before setting it on his table next to the tiny stack of nurses' phone numbers. Looking at the clock, he decided it was time to get dressed. He swung his legs around and rose from the bed. To his pleasant surprise, the wobbly, cautious steps he took yesterday had changed to steady, strong strides.

Henry picked up most of the clothes and took them to the bathroom. He set them on the sink and stripped off his hospital gown. For a minute, he studied his clothes: a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and blue boxer shorts. As he put on each perfectly-fitted piece, he was surprised that their textures were all luxurious to the touch. Most doctors spent their money on expensive cars; he apparently spent his on clothes.

Henry stepped back out into the room and placed his gown on the foot of his bed. He picked up the brown shoes and black socks and sat on the bed to put them on. He glanced over at the stack of nurses' phone numbers. As tempting as it was to keep them, he planned to throw them away in case he had a girlfriend or a wife. He picked them up and tucked the slips of paper into his shirt pocket to bring them home with him. A second glance, this time at the clock, showed that it was time for Abe to arrive.

Ten minutes passed. Abe wasn't this late yesterday. Henry hoped that something had not happened to him on the way here. The ticks marking the seconds past the time of Abe's supposed arrival began to annoy him. Henry needed to distract himself. Henry watched the hallway for a couple of minutes.

Yesterday's walks with Abe showed him a part of the world outside his room. He looked back at the window, and his curiosity got the better of him. Henry located the cord for the blinds and wrapped his fingers around them. After a tug which closed them even tighter, he pulled the cords in the opposite direction.

He expected to find a view of the hospital's heating units. Instead, he saw a busy highway. A look to his right revealed two brown modern buildings, the sun highlighting their sides. Another part of the city stretched itself out in the distance, the blue sky serving as its backdrop. A series of glints caught his eyes. He followed them to the fast-flowing river between the distant skyline and him. Several people walked beside it along a path near the water's edge. A ferry floated effortlessly on the waves while a FDNY rescue boat patrolled the area looking for people to pluck out of the river's deadly clutches.

 _ **North Atlantic Ocean, April 10, 1814**_

 _Three sunrises and sunsets had passed since whatever happened to him. Henry had spent every moment since then focused on his survival, but the lack of food, water, and sleep had begun to take its toll. Every muscle in his body ached. In spite of the warm water surrounding him, he no longer could feel his hands and feet. The sun's usually warm, gentle rays burned through his face. He tried to make himself comfortable, but every position he tried only provided momentary relief from the pain. His stomach ached from the lack of food. He had seen fish swimming past him when he turned over and submerged his face underwater to get some relief from the sun. Even if he were able to fish and cook his catch, he did not feel like eating because of the nausea. His throat burned from thirst, but a drink from the water surrounding him might kill him._

 _Henry scanned the horizon for passing ships in his line of sight, but, alas, there were none. He looked up at the sky and saw vultures circling overhead. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them. The vultures vanished as suddenly as they appeared. Over the past three days, he could closed his eyes only for a few minutes. Any longer and a wave would try to submerge his body underwater._

 _Surely, he would perish out here in the open ocean if a ship did not come and rescue him. In a way, death would be more preferable to this. At least, he would be free from the pain he was suffering. Yet, he wanted to be home with his family and friends. His death would only cause them unbearable grief. He wanted to keep living, for their sakes. He didn't believe in fate, but this was one time that he had to let it decide whether he lived or died._

 _Suddenly, he felt a wave pushing him forward. A second and a third wave rapidly followed. With the fourth forceful wave, a shadow began to loom over him and cool him. He could hear overlapping voices near him, all speaking an unintelligible language. He had heard of angels coming to bear saints' souls to heaven when they died. This did not seem like it; he would be surrounded by light, not darkness. Then again, he was no saint, not after the events of three days' past._

 _Light and darkness began to blend together. He heard a splash behind him. Whatever fell into the water had created a wave which pushed him forward once again. A minute later, he felt a pair of arms around his arms. Hands guided something around them and worked with the object for a few seconds. One of the arms that grabbed him then released itself and tugged on the object. Both he and the unknown person lunged backward. The voices nearby suddenly spoke rhythmically and in harmony with each other._

 _As he came closer to the source of the shadow, Henry could feel a wave of darkness coming upon him. Voices slurred together. The one he heard clearly, apparently belonging to the one holding him, shouted, "Traiga la ropa, ahora!"_

 _Henry thought to himself, "They will hang me." With that, the darkness swept over him and pulled him under._

 _The first things Henry heard next were a creak echoing around him and several voices in the distance. He could tell that he was lying on something hard and flat. Something covered his legs while something else covered his chest._

 _His bed suddenly lurched to the right. He opened his eyes and looked around. Several empty beds lined the walls of the room. To his left, a barrel sat at the end of the line of beds across from him. He looked down at where he laid. He saw that he was clothed in a shirt; a peek under the sheet revealed trousers. Henry listened to the voices above him. He did not recognize the language; the closest one it seemed to resemble was Latin. In spite of the differences, he immediately recognized his surroundings. He was in a ship's sick bay. Which ship was he aboard, though?_

 _A boy who looked no older than seventeen walked into the room. His trousers and shirt hung loosely over his frame. The slight bow in his legs indicated that his family was very poor, so poor that they could not afford milk._

 _Henry needed some information about his exact location. "Úbi sum?" Henry was surprised that his voice was raspy._

 _The boy leapt at the sound of Henry's voice. He ran out of the room, saying, "El paciente se ha despierto!"_

 _He had no idea how he got here. The last thing he remembered was being pulled and thinking that he was to be hung. That, apparently, had not happened. A man plucked out of the ocean only to be sentenced to die would not receive a fresh change of clothes and a bed to sleep on._

 _A couple of minutes later, the boy returned with a tall man. White hairs were sprinkled throughout the man's black ones. His tailored clothing and healthy appearance pointed toward a middle class upbringing. The man stopped at the barrel and picked up a ladle. He scooped it into the barrel and drew it out. With his treasure, he walked over to the bed and sat down beside Henry._

 _Maybe this man could give him some answers. "Úbi sum?" Each word burned his throat._

" _You are aboard the San Carlos del Rey." The man placed the ladle to Henry's mouth. To Henry's surprise, it was full of water. Henry took several large gulps. His stomach churned after the last one. To alleviate the pain, he laid back down._

 _The man looked at him for a minute. "Where did you learn Latin?"_

" _My father belonged to the Worshipful Company of Mercers. When I was seven, my parents sent me to St. Paul's School to be educated. After that, I studied at Oxford to become a doctor."_

 _A look of recognition crossed the man's face. "You are far from home."_

 _Henry looked down at his feet for a minute. The man must had taken it as an acknowledgement of the truth. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Pedro Melendez de Avila. I am the ship's physician. Please call me Pedro. It is fortunate that we found you when we had. You likely would have perished before day's end."_

" _How long has it been?"_

" _About three days. When we pulled you from the sea, we saw that you were naked."_

 _Naked? Henry was certain he was clothed for the three days that he was in the ocean. Then again, he was so focused on survival that he did not notice._

" _May I ask your name?"_

" _Henry Morgan." He paused for a moment as he thought about what had woken him. "What was the lurch?"_

" _We have docked in Havana. We need to gather supplies and merchandise before returning to A Coruña." Pedro shifted his weight on the bed. "Well, Henry, you need your rest. I will return later and see how you are doing." Pedro rose from his seat and walked out of the room._

 _Henry stared at the floor of the deck above him. He was on a Spanish merchant ship. No one here knew the events of the past few days. He slightly smiled. It was for the best. As much as he wanted to be home with family and friends, he still had to determine what to tell them when he returned. The trip to A Coruña and then home would give him the time to decide how to describe the past few days' events._

 _The voices eventually grew quiet as the crew went ashore for pleasures and supplies. As he listened to the crew, Henry knew that he needed to learn Spanish. Dr. Melendez—Pedro—would not always be available to translate. Henry suppressed the laugh coming from him. He already knew one sentence in the new language. He would have to ask Pedro to teach him more words so he could navigate in this new world._

 _ **Bellevue, New York City, Present-Day**_

The daydream suddenly disappeared. Henry shook his head. This one was stranger than the first. Just like the first one, everything was both simultaneously unfamiliar and familiar. The first one was more familiar than unfamiliar; this one was less familiar. It was enough to unnerve him.

The most disturbing part of the daydream was that he was in the water—naked. He rubbed his hands over his face and held them near his mouth. He did not expect to find the trigger for his condition so soon. A break with reality could had clouded his mind and caused him to do things that a sane person would not. If that were the case, then he would need an appointment with the psychiatrist much sooner than he planned.

There had to be a more logical explanation for what he saw. Maybe the daydream occurred because of the events of the past two days. There were many parallels between the two. His nakedness could be explained by his clothes being removed and taken away when he arrived here. As for his being in the water, the river view could explain it. His explanation didn't answer every question, but it made more sense than the alternative.

"Hey, you're dressed already!" Abe's greeting made Henry turn around to see his roommate. Abe studied his face for a second before continuing. "Sorry I'm late. I ran into Fawn in the lobby. She's here visiting a friend who had a heart attack. We got talking, and I told her how you were." Henry froze. "She says hi and that she hopes that you'll get better soon."

"What did you tell her?" The tension and measured tone in his voice surprised Henry.

"I told her that you slipped and knocked yourself out at work and had to be brought here."

Henry wrinkled his brow. _What did Abe mean by my being brought here? If I worked here, I would had been assigned to a bed immediately._

Henry looked at the older man. Abe was staring at the bouquet on the table. "Please don't tell me those are from a nurse."

Henry relaxed and chuckled as he walked around the bed. "Gratefully, no, they aren't. If they were, then I would consider the gesture to be highly inappropriate." Abe turned and looked at Henry. "They're from my neighbor's mother."

"Oh! So, how is he?"

"He is currently in the ICU healing from his splenectomy. The bouquet is the family's way of showing their gratitude for my diagnosis yesterday." Henry felt his cheeks warm.

"See, what did I tell you?" Abe clasped his hand on Henry's shoulder and shook it before sitting down.

Just as Abe sat down, Henry's nurse knocked on the door and walked into the room with a handful of papers. "I spoke with Dr. Patel, and he signed off on your release." She handed him the papers and explained where to sign. After he finished, she took the papers. "I'll be getting the wheelchair to take you out." She then looked at Abe. "Where did you park?"

"In the parking lot. Where did you want to meet me?"

"In the front of the lobby." With that, she left the room.

Henry waited until she was no longer in sight. "Parking lot? Don't you mean car park?"

It was Abe's turn to be puzzled. "I'm getting the car." Abe rose from his seat and walked out. Henry took the time to put on the black coat that Abe had brought. He sat back on the bed and waited for the nurse's arrival.

The nurse came a couple of minutes later with the wheelchair and an orderly. Henry knew that it was hospital policy, but he preferred to walk out of the hospital. Henry reluctantly climbed into the wheelchair and sat his bouquet on his lap. The orderly rolled him out the room and into an elevator at the end of the hallway.

When they arrived on the first floor, the orderly rolled him through a series of hallways. On the wall of one hallway, Henry saw a sign saying "Office of the Chief Medical Examiner" and an arrow pointing toward another hallway. Henry craned his neck to see what the sign pointed to, but all he could see was a quick glimpse of a police car sitting outside the building.

Finally, the orderly brought Henry outside of the hospital's lobby. Henry scanned the circle drive until he saw Abe leaning against a gray car, apparently built in the 1980s. Abe and the orderly helped Henry out of the wheelchair and into the car.

As Abe pulled out, he began talking. Henry's attention, however, was focused on the buildings outside his car window. With each passing block, he watched the buildings shrink in height and come closer together. Even the architectural style changed, from a modern style to an older one. Henry felt as though he was traveling back in time to a forgotten New York City. Henry tried to remember the New York City of his childhood, but the black fog of amnesia obscured it. Henry decided that this would have to serve as his view of the past.

Abe finally pulled into a lot and parked the car. As they got out of the car, Henry initially thought that they would enter the building, a restaurant called Katz's, for something to eat. Abe leaned back into the car and pulled Henry's bouquet from beside his seat. Henry then wondered why they parked here, but Abe began walking toward the back side of the building. Henry had no choice but to follow him.

A few blocks later, Henry and Abe came on a three story building with a black eyebrow roof. On the side of the roof were the words "Abe's Antiques". As they drew nearer, Henry saw the same words on the large wall-like windows along the edge of the building. The words arched over the painting of a ship.

Abe unlocked the door, and they went into the building. Henry glanced around at the shop's floor. The room was filled with tables and chairs. Lamps, vases, and various pieces of glassware sat on each table. A waist-high table across from the door held a rotary telephone, a couple of candlestick holders, a cash register, and a lamp with a stained glass shade. A few cabinets and more vases and lamps lined the red walls of the room. A quick glance overhead revealed several glass chandeliers of various styles.

Abe walked through a set of double doors behind a desk to their left. It led to a room with a curio cabinet filled with plates and a mirror. They passed through a second door which led to a stairwell. Abe took the set leading up to the next floor. At the top of the stairs was a kitchen. Abe set the bouquet on the island just inside the kitchen and walked past a table with a Nordic blue tea set on it. He went through a set of glass French doors on the opposite side of the stairs, carefully avoiding a ladder to his left.

Henry followed Abe's lead as he hung up his coat on the coat rack. Abe walked back into the kitchen. Henry stayed behind and looked around the room. To his left, a brick wall highlighted a desk, a sofa, an end table, and a coffee table. A couple of chairs, two sets of bookshelves filled with books, and a fireplace were to his right. A metallic urn with a gold geometric design around its widest point, a black and white photograph, and a clock sat on the mantle. Across from the doors were a set of windows covered with blinds, a pair of radiators under the windows, and an empty magazine rack. Lamp posts sat in the room's four corners.

"Are you hungry?" Abe's voice drifted into the room.

"Yes, I am. I didn't eat much breakfast this morning. I found it rather unpalatable." Henry turned around and looked into the kitchen.

Abe opened the refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a plastic bag. "Thai jungle curry sounds good?" Abe proudly held the bag up for Henry to see the contents. He then pulled a pot down from the overhead hooks and turned to the stove to cook the dish.

Henry glanced back into the kitchen. Along the walls were several cabinets filled with dishes. There, however, was no microwave anywhere in sight. Henry knew that lunch would take a while to cook. He walked over to the bookshelves and scanned them for something to read. He found a title of interest and settled on the sofa to read it.

Henry was so engrossed by his book that he didn't observe how much time passed. Abe's presence forced Henry to look up at him. Henry sat up and placed his book beside him. Abe reached out a bowl and a spoon. "Thought you would like to eat here in the living room today. You know, since your hospitalization."

Abe walked back into the kitchen. Henry stared the bowl's contents. It was a soup filled with vegetables and some meat. He looked back into the kitchen and saw Abe dipping himself a bowl also. Apparently, this was the main course. Henry took a bite of it. The tangy, spicy, and savory flavors of the dish pleasantly melded together in his mouth. He could detect a touch of lime in the curry.

Abe came back into the living room with his bowl and took a seat next to Henry. "Beats hospital food?"

Henry smiled as he eagerly reached his spoon into the bowl for his next bite. "Yes, it does."

The two men ate in silence for a few minutes. Abe looked over at Henry. "What do you plan to do for the rest of the day?"

Henry glanced down at his book before turning to Abe. "I thought that I would rest and read my book."

"Good." Henry's look on his face momentarily seemed to worry Abe. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself on your first day back."

"Do you plan to reopen the shop today?"

"Nah, it could wait 'til tomorrow." Abe smiled. "I'm glad you're home. It's been quiet around here without you."

They ate and talked about the events in the day's newspaper for the rest of the meal. Abe collected the bowls and spoons and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Henry took his book back up and opened it. On the first page, he saw the date and almost dropped the book. It was published in 1834. Apparently, it was very well cared for; it looked as though it did not age at all. Henry looked back at the bookshelves. There might not be another, newer copy on the shelves. Henry looked at the book in his hand and returned to the page he was on before lunch.

Day turned into night. The aroma of lasagna and garlic bread drifted into the living room, inviting Henry to join Abe for dinner. As Henry entered the kitchen, he noticed that Abe had moved the bouquet to the table. Avoiding the overhead chandelier, Henry sat down at his plates of lasagna, salad, and bread. Abe soon joined him, setting a tea pot on the table.

The men took a few bites to eat. The lasagna was delicious. "Was this frozen?" Henry took and savored his next bite.

"Freshly made. Mom would have hated it if we froze it."

Henry nodded. He glanced at Abe, who was staring at him. Abe quickly looked back at his plate. Apparently, his mother's absence was still fresh in his mind.

They ate for a few more minutes before Abe broke the silence again. "A couple of calls came in while you were soaking in some culture."

"Who were they from?"

"Well, Jo apologized for not coming over today. She'll be by when she can."

 _So, Jo's a woman._ How they knew each other was still unknown. "Did she give a reason?"

"Work. That was all I could get out of her."

Henry took another bite. "Who else had called?"

Abe leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth. "The guy that bought the lamp, vases, and card table. He'll be here about 10:15 to pick them up."

The man could not carry the merchandise across town by himself. "Where does he live?"

"Stanton and Orchard."

"That's not far."

"Tell me about it. He has no car. I volunteered to drive him, but he insists on walking back with them."

After the meal, Henry collected the dishes and placed them in the sink. As Abe washed them, Henry decided to see if he could find his bedroom. He went to the hallway leading to the bedrooms and the bathroom. Finding the bathroom was easy; he went into it as Abe exited it earlier in the day. Henry eased the door closest to him open and went in. A bed and a pair of end tables greeted him; the table near him had a lamp on it. A set of drawers and a door were to Henry's right. Henry eased the closet door open. Several suits, a number of long-sleeved shirts, and an equal number of pants hung in the closet. One touch of the shirts told Henry that this was Abe's room. Henry eased out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He opened the other unknown door and turned on the light. The arrangement was the same; the set of drawers, however, had a mirror hanging over it. Henry opened the closet door. He saw a row of three-piece business suits, light blue and black shirts, and light blue and black pants just like his. Behind the suits were a row of blue and gray sweat suits that seemed out of place with their more luxurious counterparts.

He looked through the closet and then the drawers for nightwear that he would need later. Instead, he found a stack of white t-shirts, boxer shorts, and an entire drawer filled with rolled-up scarves of various colors and patterns. Henry stepped over to the bed. Either he slept naked or in a t-shirt and boxers. He opted for the later, for sanity's sake.

A metallic glint caught his eye. He looked at the end table and saw a gold pocket watch lying next to a book. Certainly, this was not supposed to be in here.

"Abe?" Henry picked it up and gathered the gold chain in his hand.

Abe walked into the room. "Yeah?"

"What is this piece of merchandise doing in my room?" Henry held the watch out to Abe.

* * *

Abe looked startled for a second. He lost himself in thought and then took a deep breath. "I'll take it." The older man took the watch and left the room.

Henry kicked himself. A watch was not worth the price of upsetting Abe. Henry was grateful that Abe took it. He, however, knew that things would be tense between them for the rest of the evening. Maybe some time apart would ease the tension. Hopefully, things would be better tomorrow.

Abe sat down on his bed and fingered his father's pocket watch. Dad's return home bothered him. Yesterday, Abe noticed Dad's headache, dizziness, and use of British English. Apparently there wasn't anything wrong with Dad for Dr. Patel to keep him any longer. Abe admitted to himself that any residual physical issues were nothing to worry about; Dad's next death would correct them.

Abe had been noticing changes in his father since he regained consciousness, and the list grew with each passing second. The lack of questions about the future use of his antiques. His constant use of British English. Being quiet, almost as if he suffered another death. The puzzled look on his face when Abe mentioned that he was brought to the hospital. His reaction yesterday morning, almost as though Abe was a stranger. The blank look on Dad's face at Abe's mention of both Mom and Jo. Abe had passed each of them off as part of the reason for Dad's hospitalization.

Dad not recognizing his watch convinced Abe that the personality changes weren't related to his physical condition. The watch was Dad's most prized possession from the 1800s, and he wore it everywhere. The only times that Dad had been without it were when he lost it following a death. That was, until this past Monday when Dad rushed out of the shop. The F Train's new time almost caused him to run late for the first time in his life. When Abe went into Dad's room with his laundry, Abe noticed that the pocket watch was still on the end table next to a book Dad was reading. Abe knew his father well enough to know that he would call for it when he reached work.

Abe shuddered at the most likely possibility for Dad's odd behavior: Adam's involvement in all this. Adam had once promised Dad that he would never hurt Abe as both the 2,000-year-old immortal and the then-70-year-old mortal were Holocaust survivors. Then again, Adam knew that Abe was one part of Dad's Achilles heel. Adam would have no qualms about even appearing to renege on his promise if he wanted Dad to commit a crime. It happened once, before Adam even made the promise. Maybe Dad was using an outward personality change to protect Abe.

Abe wished that he had not been gone two nights a week for the past two and a half months. He would had been able to catch Dad's obsession with Adam's threat toward Abe, or even toward the whole team for that matter. Then again, if Adam was behind Dad's disappearance, Abe would had been unable to see it coming. The only way Abe would know which scenario was likely was if Adam called to tell Dad about it. Until then, Abe had to play along with Dad's plan for his and Dad's safety. That is, if Dad didn't give some indication that something else was at play.

Abe ran his fingers over Dad's watch. Dad had it for over 200 years, and it would be in his possession for millennia to come. There was no way that Abe was going to place it on the shop's floor. Abe ran his fingers over the watch one more time before setting it on his end table for the night. Tomorrow, he would have to find a safe place to put it until the danger passed.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I'm providing the language notes again for those who don't understand it or who want to reinforce the knowledge they've gained. In Spanish, " _Traiga la ropa, ahora!_ " means "Get some clothes, now!" _"El paciente se ha despierto!"_ means "The patient has awaken!"

As for the Latin, Henry asked "Where am I?" (By the way, I had to use Google Translate for the Latin. If there are any errors, I'm sorry.)

 **Update** : I had to change one detail. I didn't realize that Suffolk Street and Orchard Street paralleled each other. I had to change it to Stanton Street and Orchard Street. Sorry for any confusion!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I took a week-long break from writing because of the Christmas holiday. Yes, I enjoyed myself during the holiday. I also was able to come up with a scene in this chapter.

My descriptions of the antiques come from the US version of _Antiques Roadshow_.

There are also mild references to "The Pugilist Break" and "6 A.M.".

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Henry stirred around on the bed. It felt different this morning. It should had been soft with a large bend near his waist. Instead, the bed was harder and flat. Startled by the unfamiliar feeling, Henry sat up and looked around at his surroundings. He relaxed as he realized that he was in his bed in his and Abe's apartment above the antiques shop.

A sniff of his body and a look at the clock implied that he needed a shower before breakfast. Abe's customer would arrive in a few hours. In the meantime, Henry would have to reacquaint himself with the shop in order to identify the pieces Abe sold. The few hours would also give Henry time to see if anything in the shop looked familiar.

Henry sighed as he walked into the bathroom and took his shower. He wished that the pocket watch was familiar. If it were, he could had joined Abe in whatever evening activities they shared instead of spending the rest of yesterday evening reading. Henry admitted to himself that he used his book as an excuse to avoid his roommate.

He closed his eyes for a second as he let the warm water run over him. The pain in Abe's face last night flashed in his mind. Henry regretted ever thinking that he should hide his memory issues from Abe; families shared that type of information. He, however, didn't want to sabotage their relationship. Henry did not know what the day would bring, but he knew that he could not spend it running from Abe.

After his shower, Henry found a towel under the sink and wrapped it around his waist. Upon his return to the room, he opened the drawers and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. As he pulled his boxers over his waist, an image in the mirror caught his eye.

His eyes trailed down his mirror image to his left breast. Over it were many flesh-colored bumps of various sizes; they were surrounded by a darker shade of color. He reached up with his right hand and began to finger the bumps. Individually, they felt as smooth as the rest of his skin; collectively, they took on a rough texture.

He studied the site in the mirror. It looked more like a scar than a series of growths. He could immediately tell that it wasn't a surgical scar; those were straight lines. The dark colors could be burn marks. A burn, however, would not explain the bumps.

 _Did someone shoot me?_ A look at the largest bump ruled out that possibility. A gunshot wound to the heart would had meant a relatively quick death. Yet, he was alive. He tried to think back to what could had happened. The fog in his mind obscured the event from view. Henry sighed; he would have to research his scar when he had the opportunity.

The smell of eggs filled the air. Henry quickly put on his t-shirt, a blue shirt, and a pair of black pants before hurrying into the dining area. He noticed that Abe had moved the bouquet from the dining room table. A glance back into the living room revealed that it now sat on the coffee table. As he took his seat, he saw that, in its place, was a toaster and a butter dish. Steam from the tea pot suggested hot tea. A pitcher and two glasses were filled with orange juice. Today's newspaper sat next to his seat; the bulging fold and the misaligned pages of the headlines section implied that Abe had read it first.

"You took a shower this morning?" Abe walked one plate over to the table and set it before Henry.

"I needed one as I did not have the opportunity while I was hospitalized." Henry looked at his plate; it was filled with two sunny-side up eggs, a piece of untoasted bread, and one-half of a grapefruit. Abe brought an identical plate over to the table and sat down.

Henry looked over at the older man. He didn't want to start the morning off on the wrong foot. "About last night…"

Abe held up one hand. "It's my fault. I must've left the watch in your room while cleaning the place the other day. Don't worry. I put it away." Abe smiled, but his eyes betrayed a slight bit of pain from last night.

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Henry removed the headlines from the rest of the paper. He read one teaser and opened the paper to the article.

"There was a shooting here a few days ago." Abe's voice caused Henry to look up. "Just off of Rivington."

Henry glanced down at the article. "The police are looking to identify the deceased."

"I feel sorry for the family. Not knowing where their loved one is or if they're alive." Abe's face no longer reflected last night's pain. Instead, it showed a pain that Henry knew himself as he wondered about the fate of his parents just three days ago.

Partly to keep his composure, Henry reread the article. The police suspected that the death was a murder, but there were no known witnesses. "I hope that NYPD will catch the suspect as well." Henry looked back up to find a nodding Abe.

The two men ate until Abe broke the silence once again. "I saw that you tossed the nurses' phone numbers in the trash."

Henry took a sip of tea and wiped his mouth. "Yes, I did." He had to choose his next words carefully. "I thought that my girlfriend might be upset with me if I kept them."

Henry worked up the courage to look at the old man. Abe's eyebrow were raised, and he was grinning. The possibility that he wasn't courting anyone never crossed Henry's mind. _Courting?_ "Apparently, I have spoken too soon."

" _Way_ too soon." Abe chuckled. "Relax! You'll find someone soon. It's just going to take some time." Still smiling, Abe took a sip of orange juice. "I don't want to change the topic, but what do you plan to do today?"

"I planned to work here in the shop. I want to catch up on what I had missed." In a way, it was the truth. As far as he knew, his workload here could had grown while he worked at the hospital.

"Are you feeling up to it?"

Henry placed his bread in the toaster. He looked at Abe, who had a slightly concerned look on his face. "I had no symptoms yesterday." That was the truth. "I seem to be doing better."

Abe smiled as he took a bite of his eggs. "That's a relief. I thought that you needed more time to recover. It must be your ability to quickly heal."

 _What did he mean by my ability to quickly heal?_ Henry suddenly realized that, whenever he became ill or injured, his recovery period was shorter than most people's. With that insight, he quickly dismissed Abe's comment.

The men spent the rest of their breakfast talking and reading the paper. After breakfast, Henry volunteered to do the dishes while Abe prepared to open the shop for the day. A few minutes later, Henry heard music drifting up the stairwell. As he finished the dishes, the dulcet sounds of the strings and woodwinds relaxed Henry even more than he already was. He was relieved that breakfast went better than he expected. He had worried that they would argue through the entire meal. Instead, Abe's question about the nurses' phone numbers seemed to release the tension from last night.

Henry smiled as he went downstairs. He reached the landing to the shop and looked toward the room at the bottom of the stairwell. Logically, it would be an inventory-filled basement. He went through the doors and almost walked into the desk. He did not realize that the desk was that close to the door yesterday.

The music's sudden swell jolted him out of his thoughts. He stepped toward the sound. It came from a record player sitting on the desk. A group of records laid next to it. Apparently, Abe had set it up only a few minutes before; it was not in the room yesterday. By the time he walked around the desk, the music's soft sounds returned.

There must be something he could do to help out. He ran his finger on the desk and discovered a thin layer of dust on it. He went back upstairs and found a dust rag and a couple of bottle brushes. As he entered the shop, a second sudden swell filled the room. Henry set the items on the desk and turned off the player. He flipped through the records and selected one. He turned the player back on after switching records. The horns and strings weren't as harmonious, but, from what he could hear, there was not as much variation in the intensity of the sounds.

Henry started to use the bottle brush to clean a glass decanter sitting on a table near the desk when he heard a voice behind him. "Jazz?"

Henry spun around. Abe appeared in the threshold, his eyebrows raised. "I appreciate your attempt to make me feel comfortable, but I was not in the mood for a…" He searched for the word that he saw on the label as he set the decanter on the table. "…symphony today."

Abe smiled as the song's notes filled the air. "I haven't heard this in a while." He took a seat in the chair behind the desk and leaned back in it. "Maureen and I danced to this song once. We were so young and in love."

 _Maureen? Who was she?_ Abe had mentioned a Fawn yesterday; Henry could assume that Abe and Maureen's relationship had somehow ended. "It sounded like a special time in your life."

"Then, it was." Abe's eyes showed a bit of shame and self-blame. "Now, I've been questioning my choices in women."

Henry hated to see Abe experience turmoil, particularly that of the romantic type. Based on his and Abe's conversations over the past couple of days, Abe was quite the ladies' man. The women, however, seemed to be repulsed by Abe or by something he did. Henry wished that there was something he could do for him.

The two women who didn't seemed to resist the older man's attempt at a relationship, though, were Fawn and the mysterious Jo. Abe mentioned Jo as if she was a friend—or as family. The mention of Fawn, on the other hand, made Abe blush and smile at the same time. The older man made Henry think of a teenager in love.

"Well, you deserve to be happy." He saw his roommate look up at him. "What about Fawn? She seems to be a pleasant woman."

Henry saw a slightly surprised look on his roommate's face. "Yeah, she is." He then smiled. "I've been thinking about asking her out soon."

Abe's eyes drifted to the grandfather clock across the room. "Well, if I want to open the store on time, I gotta get back to my inventorying of this 'museum'. Not everyone is unnaturally punctual." He gave Henry a pointed look.

When Abe turned around and left the room, Henry raised an eyebrow and then chuckled. He wasn't sure what was so funny. He looked around the shop. Abe was right about one thing; it _did_ look like a museum. He picked the decanter back up and resumed cleaning.

* * *

Henry had cleaned most of the shop's retail space when he heard the door open. He looked at the clock; it read 10:16. A man about his height walked into the store. He wore a windbreaker, a solid sweater, and a pair of blue jeans. Based on his timing and his clothes, Henry deduced that this was Abe's customer from earlier in the week.

"Hello?" The man looked around the shop and was startled to see Henry.

"May I be of assistance?"

"Um…I came here a few days ago and bought a few items."

"Ah, yes! A Tiffany lamp, two French porcelain vases, and a game table." Henry quickly looked behind the puzzled man to see if he brought friends to help him with transporting his new possessions. No one else came in.

The man's mouth dropped open. "That's them."

Henry glanced around the room and saw one-half of a wooden table sitting beside the threshold separating the retail space and the stairwell. Based on Abe's description, that was likely the game table he sold. The stained glass lamp near the telephone should be the Tiffany lamp. Henry looked around the room, his eyes scanning each vase and piece of glassware. He didn't know which ones were the two French porcelain vases.

Henry finally saw Abe come back into the room. "I'll help you collect them." He watched Abe walk over to one of the tables and pick up two white vases. He walked them over to the table where the Tiffany lamp sat and set them down next to it. He disappeared into the stairwell and came back a minute later with four cardboard boxes.

"Do you require any assistance in transporting everything?" Henry looked over at the man before walking toward the table where Abe packed the vases into the two smaller boxes.

"Actually, yeah. I told Abe on the phone that I didn't needed any help, but, looking at everything now, I think I need it."

Abe looked in the man's direction. "Well, I can easily walk these over to your place with you. You know, I'm not a fossil." He gave Henry another pointed look. Henry returned the look with a confused one of his own.

The thought of being left alone in the shop with antiques that he couldn't identify frightened Henry. If he did not know what the customers wanted, he might drive away the people Abe depended on for his livelihood.

Henry turned to the customer. "I'll be glad to go with you." He looked back at Abe and saw his glare. There was no anger in it, just curiosity. "You know which items you sold while I had been gone."

"And ruin my chance to get out for some fresh air for the first time in a couple of days?" Abe paused and thought for a minute. "I guess you're right." He looked back at the customer. "Come over to my desk, and we'll talk payment."

Henry watched the two men make their way to the desk. He finished packing the boxes with the two vases into one of the larger boxes before placing the lamp into the third. He looked over at the game table and smiled. They would need two trips. Maybe he could get a look at the neighborhood and see if something could jog his memory.

The customer walked over to Henry and picked up the box with the lamp in it. Henry took the other box. "What do you want to do with the table?"

"I decided to take it when we got back here. Frankly, I don't know how I'm getting it back to my place."

"Perhaps we'll think of something along the way." Henry placed his back on the door's rail and pushed the door open. He allowed the other man to pass him before stepping outside himself.

* * *

Abe looked out the shop's window and watched his father and their customer tote the antiques down the street. Abe was glad that Dad did not ask any more questions about the shooting at breakfast this morning. This past Monday, Abe had sworn he heard a couple of gunshots, fired about a minute apart, coming from the direction of Rivington. Something told him that his father had been fatally shot with the second gunshot. Yet, he wasn't too sure what happened. A car passing by the shop backfired at the same time Abe he heard the second shot.

When Abe brought in today's newspaper, he caught the teaser immediately. Abe sighed as he read the story. What had happened to Dad seemed to be coming together. Adam could had publicly shot Dad on Monday to get his attention and then caused Dad's disappearance the next morning.

When the customer arrived, Abe volunteered to help his customer to prevent Dad from being shot again. After what had happened this week, he did not think he could bear a repeat of everything leading up to this morning.

Abe, however, let his father talk him out of accompanying their customer to his residence. When their customer entered the shop, Dad had the same lost look that he had when he woke up. Dad would had known the two white vases with pastoral scenes on them. He had to leave them behind in London when he came to the United States in the 1880s, and Abe had recovered them while at an estate sale in 1996. Abe knew that he couldn't leave his father alone with no idea what the customer wanted, even if it were a tempting idea.

The look on Dad's face momentarily worried Abe. Maybe he was missing something about his father's behavior that suggested a different reason for it. Abe dismissed the thought. The truth would come in time.

Abe listened to a few more bars of his jazz record. He began to smile. Breakfast this morning was just what they both needed. Abe had given his father his space last night. It gave both of them more time to process what had happened. At breakfast, it seemed as though Dad regretted his reaction to his watch last night. Abe wished that he could remove Adam's threat from their lives.

Abe certainly didn't expect the conversation to turn the way it did, though. He mentioned the nurses' phone numbers as a way to change the topic. Somehow, in that conversation, Dad had subconsciously declared his intentions for a relationship with Jo. It took Abe everything he could do to keep from laughing for joy at the revelation. That, and at the fact that Jo would give Dad a glare that could send him for an unexpected swim in the East River if she _ever_ found out about the numbers.

The record ended. Abe walked over to the table and replaced it with another one. He smiled. It wasn't every day that Dad allowed him to sell a few antiques without a third-degree interrogation about their future use. Dad was so particular about his antiques; most of the shop's inventory on the floor was there when the shop first opened in 1994. Today, though, it looked like a small fraction on the inventory would be gone in a matter of minutes.

Nor was it every day that Abe could enjoy his jazz records in the shop after 8 AM with Dad present. For the longest time, the rule was a compromise so that they both could enjoy their different musical tastes. It took forever, okay, fifty-eight years, for something to convince Dad that jazz wasn't all that bad. That something was Dad's involvement in the case involving jazz musician Pepper Evans and the memories it brought back. After that case, Dad occasionally allowed Abe to play his jazz records in the living room after dinner.

Abe grinned as the music filled the shop. He was determined to enjoy the good things this day was bringing while it lasted. Once the danger from Adam had passed, Abe knew that Dad wouldn't let him get away with this anymore.

* * *

Henry was glad that the customer did not ask him any questions during their first walk to his apartment. Instead, the man spent the entire walk talking about his love of antiques, his being a huge fan of the TV series _Antiques Roadshow_ (whatever that was), and his desire to own all three pieces when he saw them. He wanted to display the Tiffany lamp and the two vases in his guest bedroom so that others could enjoy them. As for the gaming table, he wanted to use it as an accent piece in the living room.

During the walk, Henry stole a few glances at the buildings while they waited to cross the street. Most of the buildings were like his and Abe's shop, just taller in height. Some had graffiti-filled metal doors pulled down over the main door. Near the corner of Stanton Street and Essex Street stood a couple of more modern buildings. The only thing that looked familiar was the corner that his and Abe's shop was on, and he knew that only from yesterday.

The trip back to the apartment with the table was more difficult than the first trip. Both men lugged the heavy table down the street. Henry was glad that Abe wasn't carrying it; he could had hurt himself. Henry, in spite of his youth, felt his arms strain from the table's weight. He would need an ice pack when he returned to the shop.

The men were about two blocks away from the shop when the customer spoke up. "So, how do you know Abe?"

Henry thought for a minute. Telling the man what he told Kimberley was out of the question. His comments had assumed that Abe was his father.

"My father and Abe were business partners. Dad bought and shipped the goods for Abe to resell here. When he passed, I moved here to the United States to take over his half of the business." Henry was surprised by both the ease that he told the story and the comment that he was an immigrant. If that were true, it explained the accent; he, however, wasn't sure which country he was from. As for the story itself, it seemed familiar, almost as if he told it to someone before.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Henry was surprised again. This was the first time that he knew of anyone, outside of Abe, showing him sympathy. "It was a long time ago, but thank you."

"Are you and Abe close?"

"He's a nice bloke. He treats me like I'm his family."

"That explains his reaction the other day." Henry gave his traveling companion an unseen look of confusion. "I was planning to buy these right then when he got a phone call from a Lt. Reece. After that, he practically shoved me out the door saying it was a family emergency."

 _Family emergency_. Henry felt his eyebrows raise when he heard that Abe referred to him that way. Over the past couple of days, he thought that Abe just had a friendly interest in the man resulting from Henry's previous apartment hunting. This made more sense, though. If Abe and his father were business partners, Abe and Henry would had gotten to know each other during the adults' business trips throughout Henry's youth. After the deaths of Henry's parents, Abe would had gladly sponsored him as he moved to the United States. Henry's spirits soared, and he smiled as he stepped off the curb and onto the street.

Suddenly, Henry felt a hard bump that almost sent him flying off his feet. He looked up as the long honk filled his ears. The driver of a blue sedan cursed at him. Henry waved a hand to apologize. A slight tug of the table forced him to redirect his attention to the task at hand.

He stepped onto the other curb and saw the customer lower his end of the table. Henry followed suit and shook his arms.

The man turned around and placed his hands on the table. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I guess so." Henry looked behind him and shuddered to think what could had happened. He had just begun his life. He did not expect to nearly lose it so fast. He resolved to start paying attention to his surroundings as he did when he carried the vases.

"Good! Something tells me that Abe would kill me if something were to happen to you." The man turned around, and he and Henry picked the table back up. They turned the corner and walked into the man's apartment complex.

As they took the stairs, Henry was relieved that Abe agreed to let him do this. The table was heavy while they walked along the streets' flat surfaces. It felt heavier as they climbed three flights of stairs and even moved over to let two young boys pass them. When they finally reached the landing and walked past two doors, he breathed a sigh of relief as the table felt lighter. As he took a second breath of satisfaction, he smelled a very faint scent of rotten eggs. Henry glanced at the apartment number as they stopped two doors down.

The customer lowered the table long enough to open the door. They carried the table through the door and into the living room. The man led Henry to the spot where he wanted the table, and they lowered it. Henry shook his arms again as he looked around the room. The shop seemed to have an unidentified theme built around its antiques. This, however, was an eclectic collection of different styles.

"You're a rock climber?" His companion's voice broke Henry's thoughts. He wrinkled his eyebrows. The man continued. "You're shaking your arms like one."

Henry blushed slightly and chuckled. "I didn't realize that." He paused for a second. "I'm afraid I'm not."

The man raised an eyebrow at Henry. He then walked around the room, reassessing the table's location. Once he was pleased, he walked to the door.

Henry thought that maybe he should leave. His work here was done. The memory of the faint smell came back to him. "Did you notice the smell of rotten eggs as we walked by the apartment two doors down?"

The man turned toward Henry as he spoke. "No. You must be smelling things."

Henry suddenly realized he knew that stench. "Do you know who lived in that apartment?"

"I've seen him around before, but, no, I haven't." The man paused for a second. "Then again, I hadn't seen him for a couple of days. Why did you ask?"

Henry walked toward the door. "Do you know who owns this complex?" Henry placed his hand on the door knob.

"No!" His companion's face and voice was filled with frustration. "Man! Tell me what's going on!"

"A life could be at stake." Henry walked out the door and toward the apartment where he smelled the odor.

The second Henry reached the door, he realized that he needed a key. "Do you have any paper clips?" The confused man nodded and disappeared into his apartment. A second later, he reappeared and gave Henry two clips. Henry unfolded them and worked them into the lock.

"Where did you learn to pick a lock?"

Henry searched through the void but couldn't find anything. His parents and Abe would not condone the behavior. "A friend taught me." At that second, the knob turned, surprising Henry.

They walked into the apartment, and Henry closed the door behind him to maintain his patient's privacy. The first thing that Henry noticed was that the lights were on. Henry looked around. The floor plan was similar to his and Abe's apartment; the difference was that the entrance was located near the living room instead of the kitchen. Like the customer's apartment, the living area's furnishings were a mix of styles; this person had more modern tastes.

Henry followed the scent to the bedroom. As they entered, Henry's left foot tapped something. He looked down and gasped. A man, apparently in his late 30s, laid in the middle of the floor. His shaggy black hair and beard indicated that he considered himself to be in fashion while his two-piece business suit and dress shoes suggested that he was a company executive.

Henry squatted on to the floor. He placed his fingers on the man's neck, but he could not find a pulse. He checked for a breath; there was none. He moved the patient's jaw and neck. He noticed that they were cold and flexible. Henry needed to check one more thing.

He looked up at his startled companion. "Can you find a torch?"

"A what?"

 _It's a light that flashes on…_ "A flashlight!"

"Why didn't you say so?" The man left the room, leaving Henry with his patient. No wonder Abe was confused. They were using two different dialects.

Henry studied his patient for a minute. Something on the coat caught his eye.

The customer returned as Henry examined the coat. He held out a penlight. "How's this?"

"Perfect." Henry took it and turned it on. He pried the eyes opened and swept the light over the eyes. Neither pupil reacted to the light.

Henry rocked back onto his feet. He took a deep breath. He did not expect to find this.

He looked over at the customer. "Call the police. This gentleman's dead."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : For your curiosity, the part I figured out during my Christmas holiday was the first part of Henry and the customer's walk from the antiques shop with the table.

As for the rest of the chapter, I had a couple of ideas for it, but they did not make it in. They will in the next chapter. I promise.

Also, I was unable to include a description of the game table. The table top folds in half along a hinge, and the legs push in. That is why it looks like one-half of a table.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note** : Two things: First, Kythe42 brought up an excellent question about Abe's comment about Henry's ability to quickly heal. (Thank you, Kythe42!) In my head canon, even before he became immortal, Henry has always healed a bit quicker than most people. Neither Henry nor Abe knows whether Henry's immortality accelerates the healing process when he's injured or ill; they never ran experiments on it. (I also have his immortality as being something he acquired instead of something that he was born with. To me, it makes the most sense.)

Second, I had to split up Chapter 6. When I was writing it, I wanted to include the scenes from this chapter. Everything between the breakfast scene and Abe's reaction to everything that's happened, however, got away from me. xD So, please enjoy chapter 7! (Warning: There is a brief mention of drug use/abuse.)

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Henry looked back down at the deceased gentleman as his companion stepped into the kitchen to call the police. As a doctor, he knew that the battle between life and death for one so young was frequently lost by only a matter of seconds. That, however, still did not stop him from thinking that he could had arrived sooner to prevent this man from losing his battle.

Henry looked around the room to see if he could tell what could had caused this man's death. A brief scan of the room revealed a layout that could had been mistaken for his own bedroom at the shop. The only differences were a Persian rug under the two currently on it and building materials that resembled his hospital room's materials. Henry peered around the door's threshold. Something in another room was the object that defeated the man in his struggle to live.

Henry was startled by his actions toward the dead man. It was normal for a doctor to check for vital signs when treating a patient. His movements of the deceased's neck and jaw and a desire to search for a cause of death, however, weren't issues that would concern a doctor. Henry struggled to remember exactly what type of physician, if any, would be interested in those things.

Henry suddenly began to feel nauseous. For a second, he thought that it was due to either his thoughts or the odor in the room. He rose to his feet so that he could regain his composure, and a wave of dizziness swept over him. He almost fell back onto the bed.

At that second, his customer closed the distance between him and Henry. The man caught the doctor before he fell. "Let's get you out of here."

Henry didn't protest. His symptoms had unexpectedly returned, and he wanted return to the shop to recover from them. He let the man lead him through the apartment and out the closed door. When they entered the hallway, Henry automatically closed the door behind them. He looked back at the apartment, being careful not to make his head swim.

The two men walked toward the stairwell. There was a question that bothered him. "Where did you obtain the penlight?"

"From the second drawer in the kitchen."

Henry slowly laid his head on the landing's support beam. Although Abe was expecting him back at the shop soon, he somehow knew that he needed to stay here. The police would want to question them.

* * *

Jo sighed as she hung up the phone. This case was going nowhere fast. Yesterday, she and Mike had spent the entire day asking the families still that had their apartments for information on Brewster, but they knew nothing about him. The background checks on Rowell and the complex came back clean. The only piece of good news had come from Lucas, who had told them that he and Henry were assigned to autopsy the charred body when Henry got back to work. Jo wished for a break in the case, or even just a break from this one.

" _Finally_ , some good crime scene karma!" Jo spun around at the sound of Mike's voice. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him seated in his chair, his arms raised in the air in victory.

She finally found the ability to speak. "What?"

Mike rose from his seat and grabbed a slip of paper off his desk as he walked to hers. "You know how you're always complaining that, every time you pick the phone, Doc whisks you to some fancy place, and every time I pick it up, we're investigating scenes in alleys or some weird place?"

She felt a bit insulted by Mike's comment. She enjoyed going to various cultural sites with Henry, even if it's for a case. "Yeah..."

Mike handed her the piece of paper. "Check out the address."

She took the paper out of his hand. As she opened her mouth to protest about it being another alley, she read the address. "That's Henry's neighborhood."

She rose from her seat and made her way to Lt. Reece's office before Mike could ask her where she was going. When Jo returned, she snatched her coat, scarf, and hat off her desk and put them on.

"So, we're assigned to it?"

"We're under orders to 'interview' Henry while we're in the neighborhood." Jo smiled as she waited for Mike to put on his coat.

It took them only a minute to reach the elevator. Mike's voice interrupted her excitement. "You're calling Lucas?"

Jo reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. At that moment, the elevator dinged. The doors opened, revealing a grinning Lucas.

Jo received a very enthusiastic hug from the young assistant medical examiner as the doors closed. "About time we get to see Henry!"

He turned to hug Mike. Mike pointed at him. "You touch me, and you'll regret it."

Lucas threw his hands up. "Okay, cool! You hate bro-hugs. I'll make a note for future reference."

"Lucas?" The sound of Jo's voice forced him to turn to her. "How did you get here so fast? I was about to call you."

Lucas' cheeks turned slightly red. "Oh! I've been assigned to this body. Henry, too, when he returns to work. I was coming up to tell you about it."

"Have you heard of the telephone?" Mike asked that almost as if he thought Henry's Luddite tendencies were contagious.

Jo smiled, but it wasn't for Mike and Lucas' exchange. She could not believe their good fortune. They all were assigned to this new investigation. Maybe it and their upcoming visit with Henry would be the break she was looking for.

* * *

Henry was surprised by the way he was feeling now. The few minutes near the stairwell seemed to work wonders for his nausea and dizziness. His symptoms were vanishing almost as suddenly as they appeared. Henry felt stronger with each passing second.

His customer's voice interrupted Henry's thoughts. "What were you looking at so hard when I came in with the flashlight?"

"The lining of his jacket was torn along the warp. He was involved in a struggle with someone much stronger than he was before he died. The medical examiner would determine whether the struggle contributed to his death." _How did I know that?_

He looked down the stairwell so that he could search his memory for an explanation for his knowledge. A woman ascending the stairs caught his attention. Her black coat, black knitted cap, and black dress pants fitted her nicely but also left something to the imagination. He could see a hint of a powdered blue blouse at her coat's neckline. Her red scarf draped around her neck and flowed down both sides of her chest toward her waist. Her scarf and her long, dark brown hair framed her face and showed off her exquisite Latina features. If Helen of Troy's face could launch a thousand ships, this woman's face could launch a million. _When did I began to wax so poetically, especially about a woman?_

Henry's thoughts were interrupted by a bump at his side and a metallic glint that caught his eye. He looked up and saw a man, who was slightly taller than he was and dressed in a tan coat and a grey scarf, pass him and into the hallway. Henry turned back to the stairwell and took another look at the attractive woman. A gold shield sat on her waist while her coat slightly bulged, indicating a gun behind her back. Another man, this one a black-haired man who was slightly taller than the woman and dressed in a dark unbuttoned business suit, followed her. His blue striped tie highlighted his gold shield. Henry hoped that the striking female detective didn't hear his comments to his companion.

"Detectives! What can I do for you today?" He attempted a smile that he hoped would distract them from his comment. He suddenly realized that he had clasped his hands behind his back before he spoke.

"Henry!" The woman's smile distracted him from his questions of who she was and how did she knew his name. "I didn't expect to see you here."

The smiles on her lips and in her eyes put Henry at ease. He felt some sort of personal connection to her as well as his physical attraction. "I was in the neighborhood. Abe made a sale three days ago. I was helping our customer carry his merchandise back to his apartment." The woman's jaw dropped at his words.

"Who made the call?" The male detective spoke up as he joined them on the landing.

The sound of the voice of Henry's customer made him jump. "That'll be me."

"Can I get your name?" The male detective came beside Henry.

"Neil Shapiro." With that, the male detective took the other man aside for questioning.

The female detective moved closer to him. "Henry, can you tell me what happened?"

He looked into her kind brown eyes. He did not want to anger her. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he weighed the consequences of his future actions. If he told her the truth, she would automatically consider him to be a person of interest. If he hid the information from her, she would eventually learn the information from his customer and would still consider him as a likely suspect in the man's death.

Henry took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. He went with the option that would present the fewest issues. "While we carried the table to the apartment, I smelled a faint odor of decomposition." Henry surprised himself with his observation. "We returned to the door after placing the table into the apartment. We, actually I, used two paper clips to enter the apartment, where we found the gentleman's body on the floor. I asked Mr. Shapiro to call the police after determining that the occupant was dead."

He worked up the courage to look at her full face. Her mouth was partially opened, and she rolled her eyes upward. She was horrified by his comments. She paced closer to the apartment. His eyes followed her every move as she spent a minute deep in thought.

She then turned toward him. Frustration filled her eyes. "Henry, what am I supposed to tell Lt. Reece? This could hurt the investigation."

Henry felt his cheeks flushed, and he looked away to break the tension that he felt coming over him. He never thought that his actions would contaminate the scene. Nor did he think that he could jeopardize this detective's career.

He looked back at her. "In my defense, I assumed that the man was still alive as Mr. Shapiro claimed that he did not detect any smell when he walked by the door."

He studied her face for a minute. She lowered her eyebrows, but her mouth remained slightly open. The frustration in her eyes were replaced by a different look. This one was equal parts of an eagerness to help him and a concern about this stranger who had just entered her life. He wondered what could had changed her mind so quickly.

"Guys!" A voice behind him caused him and the female detective to look to the source. The man who had bumped against Henry came out of the room. "As you well know, the stench of the living tends to make me nauseous. This is the first time that a corpse has made me sick. Oh, hi, Henry!"

Henry looked at the young man. He was bent over with his hands on his knees. Henry realized that the metallic glint he saw earlier was a gurney. If this youth was the medical examiner, then the detectives' investigation would not progress very far.

The female detective walked over to the man and leaned over. "Are you okay?"

He straightened up, and the woman mimicked his move. "Yeah. I just needed some fresh air." He seemed to look right past Henry before reentering the apartment. Henry let out a sigh of relief. He was not interested in dealing with the man.

"Detective Martinez?" Henry watched the female detective look at a police officer standing in the apartment's threshold, the door pulled closed behind her. "There's something that you should see."

He finally had the female detective's name, or at least her surname. Henry smiled as he let it enter his memory. In a way, it sounded familiar, like Abe's had when Henry first regained consciousness. He searched his memory for her connection to his past. Alas, there was none to be found.

Detective Martinez looked back at Henry, a slight smile on her face, before opening the door. It was as if she expected him to join her. Henry took a step forward.

At that second, a burly-looking officer about slightly taller than the medical examiner stepped between Henry and Detective Martinez. "Do you live here?"

Henry gulped as he looked up at the officer. "Um, no, I'm afraid I do not."

"Then, I'll have to ask you to leave." The officer stepped out into the hallway and guided Henry back to the stairwell.

As he reached the bottom of the first landing, he placed his hand on the support column and turned back to view the hallway. He peered up, hoping for a glimpse of the detective who had so easily captured his attention. His police escort's presence, however, discouraged him from ascending the stairwell again. He sighed and turned back around. In spite of his desire to stay with the lovely Detective Martinez, it was time for him to return to the shop. By now, Abe would certainly wonder what was keeping Henry so long.

* * *

Jo walked into the apartment and followed the officer who took her attention away from Henry. She fished a pair of gloves out of her coat pocket and put them on. The officer and Jo weaved through crime scene investigators as they made their way back to the bedroom where the body laid. Mike walked around the bed and greeted her.

"Vic's name is Gene Tomberlin. His driver's license says he's 39, and, yes, he lives here. CSU found this." Mike held out a medicine bottle in his gloved hand.

She took the bottle and examined it. She studied the label. In the bottle were pain pills. She mentally counted the pills. A few were missing, but it seemed as though he had been taking the medicine according to doctor's orders. If this was a drug overdose, then he had to obtain the excessive amount of pills some other way.

Mike's voice interrupted her thoughts. "What did Doc have to say?"

Jo inhaled sharply. Mike needed to know; he apparently had been distracted when he came up the stairs. "He and Shapiro were carrying a table that Shapiro bought from Abe." Mike's jaw dropped at the revelation. She continued. "Henry smelled decomposition but thought Tomberlin was alive. So, they broke into the apartment, and Henry determined that Tomberlin was dead."

Mike kept his gaze on her. "He does realize that being in the hospital recently won't excuse him from one of Lieu's murderous stares?"

Jo glared at Mike before changing the topic. "What about Shapiro?"

"He gave essentially the same story." Mike sat down on the made-up bed. "So, what do you think? Overdose?"

"As I was coming up the stairs, Henry mentioned some evidence of a struggle. He would definitely want a second look at Tomberlin."

With that in mind, she wove her way back out the door and into the hallway. A few steps later, she noticed a tall, burly-looking officer walking toward her. "Have you seen a man about my height walking in here? Brown hair and eyes, blue shirt, British accent?"

"He didn't live here, so I sent him home."

Jo rolled her eyes and groaned. "That was the medical examiner who is assigned to this case!"

She pushed the officer and took a few steps into the hallway. She looked up and down it, but she could not see him. She hurried down the stairs and out of the complex. She ran down to the corner and looked down both streets. Henry was nowhere in sight.

Disappointed, she walked back to the apartment. She kicked herself. Henry hadn't returned to work just yet; his causal (for him) clothing told her that. He had been known to work after hours before, usually experimenting on himself at home to determine a victim's cause of death when time was of the essence. In those instances, however, he always ran a series of lab tests during work hours to confirm his unorthodox findings and to cover his immortality. If the lab was slow to return his results, the techs could expect one of his lectures on forensic pathology.

An off-the-clock examination of the body at a potential crime scene could jeopardize his career and their investigation. A defense attorney could bring accusations of tampering with evidence. Jo sighed. Maybe it was best for him to return to the shop instead of staying here.

She entered the complex and began to ascend the stairs. While they were talking, something about Henry bothered her. It wasn't the fact that he could smell decomposition while Shapiro, and, in fact, she couldn't. Almost 240 years of existence and over 30 years of working directly with the dead had given Henry an acute ability to smell death in all its stages. At times, he could tell how long a person's been dead based on that alone.

It was the look in his eyes that bothered her. More accurately, it was two looks competing for dominance. The first one was unmistakable. She had first seen it when they had met. As he began to work on the train engineer, she noticed a world-weariness in his eyes. She was amazed to find someone else who felt the weight of the world on their shoulders; no one else around her looked like she felt. The second their eyes met, though, was a different story. A spark of life and a glint of attraction ignited in them, and they grew brighter with each encounter they had during that first case. Since then, the world-weariness from history and the pain and losses in his long past was still detectable, but it was being replaced with life with each passing day.

The other look was the one that worried her. It was definitely unfamiliar. She first noticed it when he stated that the shop had made a sale. Initially, she believed that it was from her reaction to his letting go of one of his possessions without a third-degree interrogation. As the conversation progressed, she realized that the look stayed in his eyes. It was almost like he had no idea of who she was. She wished that she knew what happened when Henry had disappeared to make him react in that way. She shuddered to think that maybe Adam had done something to hurt him.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped to steady her surfacing emotions. Their current investigation would not benefit from her worrying about Henry. After they wrapped up here, she would go visit him. Then, they could talk about what had happened, if he wanted to. Hopefully, there would be a clue in that conversation that would give her an idea of why he was acting that way.

She continued into the hallway and into the apartment. She looked around the rooms as she walked back to Mike and Lucas. She might as well start gathering clues to help Henry with his side of the investigation. There was a very thin layer of dust on the furniture in the living room. In the kitchen, she found a clean sink and a lack of a newspaper. That wasn't surprising; Henry and Abe were the only two people she knew who read one in the Digital Age. She knew that Mike messed up the bed covers when he sat down; it still indicated that the time of death was before the victim laid down or after he woke up. There was no blood on his clothes or extending past his body, so he likely didn't suffer from a stab wound or a gunshot wound to the chest. He should have a cell phone; she would have to ask Lucas about finding one on Tomberlin.

She walked into the bedroom and noticed that both Mike and Lucas were unnaturally quiet. Usually, they bickered like brothers, or they would talk about her and Henry's relationship. Mike sat on the bed, his forehead furrowed in pain. Lucas' nausea had returned. When he sluggishly rose to seat himself on the bed, he almost fell. She looked out the door. A couple of guys from CSU were reacting the same way.

The only common denominator with everyone's reactions was that there was something in this room that was making them sick. Jo had been unaffected as she had been outside of the apartment for the longest part of their time there. She knew that this situation could turn into something that would require medical attention for one or more people in the apartment.

She looked back at Lucas and Mike. If given a choice between the preservation of the evidence and the preservation of human life, Henry would choose the latter every time. Jo knew that he would forgive her for what she planned to do next. She walked over to the window and unlatched it. Then, she threw open each panel to let fresh air in. She wove her way through the apartment and, over CSU's protests, threw open the door.

After she returned to the bedroom, she kept her eyes on her two friends. Within a few minutes, their symptoms seemed to ease. The thought of Henry being in the same situation crashed over her like a wave. That likely was why he was at the stairwell when she arrived.

She studied Lucas for a minute. He was clearly not recovered from his exposure to whatever it was that had sickened him. Then again, he was one of the first ones in the apartment, and he stayed the longest, even with his break. "Why don't you take the body back to the morgue and go home?"

Lucas' voice sounded a bit weak. "I can't. Nate called me as I began my examination. He wanted me back there ASAP."

Jo groaned. Mike was right; the OCME needed more assistant medical examiners to cover their colleagues at times like this. She hoped that, tomorrow, Lucas would be assigned to Newell, or better yet, Henry.

She sighed as she looked around the room. Of the moment, she couldn't do anything here. She had to wait until CSU and Henry processed the evidence and the victim.

With her thought of Henry, Jo's mind drifted to the lost expression in his eyes. She shook her head. She had been so worried about Henry over the past few days. With the exception of the sale of one of his antiques, everything about his behavior seemed normal. His breaking and entering into the apartment. His observations about the victim. His hands clasped behind his back. His use of "Detective" instead of "Jo". Telling her the truth, even if she didn't want to hear it. Even the sale could be explained if the table had originally belonged to his first wife Nora. Nothing suggested that anything was wrong with him.

Her cell phone rang, pulling her out of her thoughts. She pulled it out of her pocket and checked the screen to see who was calling. It was Lt. Reece. Jo sighed. She needed to tell the lieutenant about Henry's observations. If the past couple of days were any indication, she, Mike, and Lucas would have to cancel their plans to visit with Henry.

Lt. Reece had told Jo earlier that morning that the police commissioner had wanted every precinct raise their clearance rates. The 11th Precinct had the highest rates in all of the NYPD, but the detectives were to work on the cases as they came to raise the precinct's own rates even more. Both Lt. Reece and Jo agreed that Henry and Lucas' involvement in cases was the reason behind the 11th's rates, not the size of the work load. Lieu also mentioned that Henry had to spend the day before he disappeared in jail as both patrol and booking were under pressure to raise their rates as well.

Lt. Reece had told Jo that they could visit Henry as long as the case wasn't a homicide. This case started out as a suspicious death but quickly turned into a potential murder investigation with Henry's astute observations. As Jo answered the ringing phone, she wished that, for one day, the criminals would stop breaking the law long enough to let her catch a break and visit Henry.

* * *

Henry raced back to the shop, taking care to stop at each intersection to check for both street names and oncoming traffic. In walking to Mr. Shapiro's residence, Henry did not expect a cold north wind to develop so quickly. He wished that he had grabbed his coat before leaving the shop so that he wouldn't freeze to death.

He finally saw the door to the antiques shop and hastily entered it. The warmth of the shop hit his face, but it failed to warm his body. He started toward the double doors behind the desk. Henry wanted to find something to warm him.

"Henry!" Abe's voice forced him to stop and look toward it. Abe, wearing a coat, stood on the bottom of the stairwell. "Where have you been? Another few minutes, and I would have called the police!"

Henry studied Abe's face. He seemed more worried than angry. Henry inhaled, knowing that Abe would be angry during one part of the story. "Our customer and I carried the table to his apartment. I smelled decomposition, and we broke into the apartment." Abe raised his eyebrows in surprise. Henry continued. "When I saw that the apartment's occupant was dead, we called the police and stayed until we answered the detectives' questions."

Abe thought for a minute and nodded. "Did you see Jo there?"

"No, I had not." Henry wondered why Abe would think that he would.

"Ah! That's too bad. I thought you would." Abe paused for a second and looked him over. "I've made a fresh pot of tea for you."

Abe took a couple of steps toward the threshold. Henry became terrified that the older man would leave him alone to run the shop. "Where are you going?"

"Myron invited me out to lunch. I thought that I would take him up on the offer."

Henry nodded. Abe probably had to ignore his friends' requests for lunch while he visited Henry in the hospital.

Henry let Abe passed. "Enjoy your lunch."

"I will. Don't make any sales while I'm gone." Henry watched Abe cross the retail space to the door. He flipped the sign around before leaving.

Henry smiled. It seemed as though Abe had read his thoughts. He walked upstairs and into the kitchen, his body shivering to keep warm. He looked at the table. Steam rose from the tea pot on the table. He picked up the pot and began pouring some of the promised tea into a cup. Some spilled as his hands shook from the cold. He set the pot down until the shaking stopped. He finally managed to fill his cup during a second attempt. He then took a sip and smiled. Whatever method Abe had used to prepare it, whether his own or that of Henry's parents, was perfect.

He took the cup and saucer into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He took a few sips and allowed the hot beverage and the heat from the radiator to warm him. Eventually, the combined sources of warmth stopped his shivering.

He set his saucer and cup on the end table beside the sofa. His thoughts turned to the deceased person he had found. Based on the odor emanating from it and the flexibility of the joints, the man was dead for at least 24 hours. Henry's quick scan of the bedroom indicated that the man lived alone. Henry rubbed his hands over his face and brought them in front of his mouth. Certainly, a member of the man's family, either biological or by choice, must miss him and had reported his absence to the police by now. In a manner of speaking, it was no longer of any concern to him. The investigation into the man's death now belonged to Detective Martinez and to her team.

Henry smiled at the thought of the detective. She was a beautiful woman filled with strength, compassion, intelligence, and a dedication to her job—a rare combination. He considered himself fortunate to have found her, not once but apparently twice; the first time was at some point in his forgotten past. Her familiarity with him caused him to wish that he could discover how they were connected.

In spite of his lack of memories of her, he knew that he wanted to see her again. He wanted to know more about her and to see if he would have the opportunity to act on the attraction that he felt toward her. Henry shook his head. His hours as an emergency department doctor would prevent him from ever establishing a relationship with her. Her schedule, likewise, would prevent her relationship with him. Henry sighed; this might had been the only time he would ever see her.

Henry took another sip of tea. Something white caught the corner of his eye. He set his cup and saucer back on the end table. He noticed a black rotary telephone; under its legs was a white piece of paper. Henry slipped the paper out from under the telephone. A pang of guilt struck him as he pulled the paper toward him. Even if Abe considered him to be family, Henry felt that he should not look at the older man's personal items without permission.

Henry read the note; it was addressed to— _him_. His jaw dropped as he read the abbreviation "OCME". His mind flashed back to his trip through Bellevue's hallways during his discharge from the hospital. He opened his mouth again as he remembered the sign that read "Office of the Chief Medical Examiner".

 _Medical examiner?_ When did he begin to diagnose the dead and not the living? Henry wondered whose death affected him so deeply that he decided to leave the medical field. He assumed that his parents' deaths led him to his choice of profession as their deaths made him the most emotional when thinking about it.

Henry read the note again. The caller wanted to know when he would return to work. Henry looked at the staircase before directing his gaze back into the living room. It would be easier on Abe if he returned to work. He could not help the older man with selling the shop's merchandise. He hoped that Abe would support his decision.

Nor would staying here help him find the trigger for his amnesia. Henry quickly ruled out his and Abe's relationship as a source. The only way it could had triggered his condition was if they had a divisive pain-filled argument. Returning to work would give him the opportunity to see if his amnesia was caused by something related to his occupation or to his colleagues. He startled himself with the thought that he would have only ten working days to find the source of his memory issues.

His mind suddenly drifted back to Detective Martinez. He remembered the police car sitting outside the building when he had been released from the hospital. He walked over to the bookshelves and pulled the telephone directory off a lower shelf. He opened it up and found the listings for both the OCME and the NYPD. He checked the addresses for both. It was just as he had suspected. There was a precinct, the 11th Precinct, located in the same building as the OCME.

He let out an unconsciously held breath and smiled. If Detective Martinez worked with the 11th Precinct, then he would have multiple opportunities to see her again. They could encounter each other in the hallways and in other communal areas. As the OCME also investigated homicides, he could bring his findings to her to prevent her wait for them.

Henry picked up the telephone and dialed the number. As he waited through the menu options, he looked at the ticking clock. He knew that Abe wouldn't be back for the next two hours and forty-five minutes. It would give him time to study the maps in the telephone directory so that he could find his way to work tomorrow. He also needed time to see if they had any subway schedules.

As he waited to connect to the caller, he took the telephone off the table and walked into the hallway toward the bedrooms. A bicycle in the hallway caught his eye. He smiled as he looked at the bicycle. If it were his, it would provide him with a more acceptable mode of transportation than the subway. It would also provide him with another manner to encounter Detective Martinez again.

Henry finally connected with the caller and told her that he would return to work tomorrow. As he hung up the telephone, he searched his mind for any memories of his career as a medical examiner. He sighed as he sat back down on the sofa. He knew as much about being a medical examiner as he did about being an antiques dealer. He hoped that something at work would jog his memory so that he would not appear to be incompetent at his job. He looked to the bookshelves and scanned the titles, but he could not see any books on the field. He decided that he would have to learn while on the job, if necessary.

Henry admitted to himself that he wanted to assist Detective Martinez with her investigation as much as he wanted to spend time with her. In a way, he owed it to the deceased man and to his family, wherever they were; he was the one who discovered the man's body. His knowledge of death and decomposition would provide Detective Martinez with the information about the murderer's motive and premeditation. At the same time, the victim's family would learn of their loved one's cause of death.

He rose from his seat and walked over to the windows. He looked out at the busy street below the bare tree outside the window. This day thus far had been full of surprises, both pleasant and unpleasant. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring. He hoped that his memory issues did not make matters worse for everyone involved. Detective Martinez's ability to do her job depended on his ability to do his. He hoped that he was up to the task.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I recognize that there are some fans who ship Henry and Abigail exclusively. Abigail will play a posthumous role in nudging Henry toward the truth about himself; it will come in later chapters.

For all you Jenry shippers, I hope you've enjoyed Henry & Jo's first "meeting" since the onset of his amnesia. And, brace yourselves, this will be a bit of a wild ride that I hope you'll enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry that I took a bit longer to publish this. I had received my DVDs the day after I published chapter 7, and I have been enjoying them. (I still hope that we will get Season 2 one day; we'll see.)

There are brief references to the Pilot, "The Ecstasy of Agony", and "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn".

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Henry shook his wet umbrella and entered the building. He pulled a wet umbrella bag off the stand and slipped the bag over his umbrella. Henry was relieved that he decided to take the subway this morning. Trying to navigate unfamiliar streets in an unfamiliar city was difficult enough. Doing so while using an umbrella to shield himself from the driving rain would had been more difficult.

Abe's directions to the OCME had been helpful, but they almost came with a price. Earlier that morning, Abe had given Henry a puzzled look as Henry removed his coat from the coat rack. When Abe said "In case you've forgotten while you were in the hospital…," Henry froze. It seemed as though Abe had guessed that Henry had memory issues. To Henry's relief, a smile on Abe's face as he finished the directions indicated that the older man was joking. As Henry left the shop, he had shuddered as he had thought about what could had happened.

Now, Abe wasn't available to help Henry to navigate the hallways of his workplace. Henry walked over to the map on the wall opposite the doorway. He studied it for a minute before walking toward the hallway leading to the elevators. To Henry's pleasant surprise, arrows and signs on the walls and support beams led him to the elevators that would take him to the building's basement levels.

During his walk, Henry checked the hallways for Detective Martinez. He, unfortunately, could not see her anywhere. She could had been still at home. Maybe it was her day off. She could had been ill. Likely, though, she had begun her day with an investigation. Henry hoped that, if that were the case, their paths would cross again in the near future. If not, then it, unfortunately, meant that this was not her precinct and that he would not ever see her again.

On his elevator ride to the basement, Henry suddenly thought that he should had asked who he was assigned to yesterday. As far as he knew, he was an assistant medical examiner. Maybe he should go to the employee break room and see to whom he was assigned. As he had no idea where the break room was, he decided that he should check each office to see if a name looked familiar.

The elevator doors opened, revealing a hallway lined with rooms. Henry spied one directly across from the elevators. He stepped up to the glass wall and peeked into the room. A trio of sinks lined the back half of the wall to his left. Two work benches and a pair of autopsy tables lined the half closest to him. Six poles, two with scales, two with video monitors, and two with lamps, sat between the tables to his right. On the walls were posters of the various anatomical systems. Two carts with various test tubes and instruments flanked the room. Two desks, one close to Henry and one toward the back, sat on opposite sides of the room. The desk on the right, which was closest to Henry, had a computer and a telephone on it; a third lamp stood behind it. A microscope and a lamp sat on the other desk. The light from the hallway bounced off two glass walls while the dim morning sun filtered through a window in the back of the room. One glass wall was on Henry's right while the other lay beyond the tables.

Henry thought he saw some words on the glass wall in the back of the room. He leaned in for a closer look, and his jaw dropped as he saw the words "Henry Morgan, Deputy Chief Medical Examiner" on the left-hand door. He opened the door and walked in. A quick glance to his right and then to the back of the room revealed storage cabinets for linens and scrubs, a pair of x-ray lights, and a couple of containers for gloves and used needles on the walls. Henry walked over and peered in the glass wall to the right. It was another room. A desk and chair sat in the middle of the room. A wall lined with metal drawers sat opposite of the doors. A gurney sat in front of the coolers. Apparently, this was where they kept the bodies.

Henry walked into his office. The walls to his left and right contained bookshelves filled with books. Two sets of bookshelves framed the window behind his desk while two chairs faced it. A telephone, a memo holder, a metallic mug, a lamp, and a magnifying glass sat on top of it. Most of the items looked as though they were antiques. A small stack of folder laid between the memo holder and the telephone.

Henry walked around the desk. A white lab coat draped over the chair. Henry leaned his umbrella against the wall before exchanging his black coat for the white lab coat. He slipped the lab coat over his black cardigan and white dress shirt. He tugged his left sleeve over the wristwatch Abe loaned him. He was glad that he decided not to wear a three-piece suit to work. Should there be a spill, the expensive suit would be ruined. As for the wristwatch, Abe seemed hesitant to loan him one; perhaps he remembered their tension from two days ago. Henry had convinced Abe that he needed a timepiece to perform his duties, and he had promised Abe that he would take care of the watch.

As Henry sat in his chair, he wondered about the timing of his parents' deaths and of his decision to become a medical examiner. It must had been very early in his medical career, given the requirements for the position. Henry rubbed his face. He had no idea who to ask to confirm that piece of information about himself.

He looked at the stack of folders and bit his lower lip in thought. He brought them in front of him. As he inspected the pages of each folder, one name, aside from his, consistently appeared in the reports—Wahl. Clearly, this was his assistant.

Henry looked out the doors as he wondered about his relationship with Wahl. Were they merely formal, or had they become friends? Had he ever partnered with any doctor for that matter? Henry glanced back at the folders.

 _ **Aboard the San Carlos del Rey, North Atlantic Ocean, July 23, 1814**_

 _Henry looked down at the glistening, white-capped water below. The height did not bother him. Instead, it was the thought of loosening his grip on the rigging and falling to his death. He knew that he was not ready for that. His arms, however, threatened to revolt against his self-preservation as they shook from fatigue. He hoped that his saving grace would be his hands remaining locked on the ropes._

 _Henry looked back up at his charge. Tomas, a rigger, had continuously manned the rigging during a storm two days before, refusing nourishment and sleep. Today, he had been brought into the sick bay with a fever. Esteban, the loblolly boy who had tended to Henry after his rescue, escorted Tomas to a bed. Before Esteban set the older man down, Tomas broke free and ran onto the main deck. Henry followed Tomas above deck. As Henry drew near, the more experienced crewman scurried up the outside of the rigging. Henry, determined to retrieve his patient, climbed onto the rigging after him._

 _That was a few minutes ago, but it felt like hours. Throughout the time, Tomas had refused to come down. Instead, he shouted that Henry had claimed that he stole clothes and food from the hull before Tomas ran above deck. Henry remembered back to the first three weeks after he regained his strength. The men had been suspicious of him, calling him a "Jonah". They had accepted Henry as a member of the crew after the quartermaster had trusted Henry to reset his broken leg; Tomas was the second crew member to accept him._

 _Tomas' readjustment of his grip on the rigging redirected Henry's attention to the situation at hand. Tomas looked at Henry. "Leave me be! I have done nothing wrong!"_

 _Henry's eyes met the desperate man's. All of the man's symptoms pointed toward delirium, yet Henry knew that he had to treat Tomas' delusions as though they were real._

 _Remembering his experiences immediately before his rescue, Henry knew what he needed to say. "Do you want to see your family again?" Henry hoped that he said it correctly in Spanish._

" _Yes." Tomas' voice broke with the simple word._

" _Then, you must come down and let us treat you." Henry felt his arms shake even more violently than before. He hoped that he could hold on until Tomas would climb down the rigging._

" _No! You will have me arrested and hung!" Anger filled Tomas' voice._

 _Henry thought for a minute. Tomas had come into the sick bay slightly limping on his right leg. Apparently, he had cut himself on some tackle during the storm, and the wound had become infected._

" _I know that you have down nothing wrong. I also know that you have hurt yourself." The man above him became startled, but he stopped his ranting and began to listen to the doctor._

 _Henry continued. "If you come down, I will treat you myself. I will not be embarrassed by the sight of your legs."_

 _Henry heard the men around him, including Tomas, laugh. He wondered what was so funny._

 _Before Henry could answer his question, Tomas began to climb down the rigging. At the same time, two riggers climbed up and met Tomas. Henry held his breath, preparing for a fight. Instead, the three men climbed down to safety below. Exhaling an unconsciously-held breath, Henry decided to join them. He pried his fingers off the ropes and began to cautiously lower himself to the deck._

 _When he reached the bottom, he turned around and faced the crew. Tomas and the riggers had disappeared below deck. The crew had dispersed, with the exception of a smiling Pedro. The older man laid his hand on Henry's shoulder as Henry shook his arms to relieve the fatigue._

" _Excellent work!" Henry was surprised to hear Pedro use Latin for the first time in over a month. "Whatever possessed you to climb the rigging?"_

" _I was concerned for his wellbeing." Henry flexed his hands to regain the feeling in them._

 _Both men began to walk back to the main hatch. Henry turned around and looked back at the rigging for a second glance. "Why were they laughing?"_

" _You said that you would not be with child. The correct word is_ _desconcertado_ _, not_ _embarazado_ _."_

 _Henry stopped for a minute, and he felt his cheeks warm. Formal Latin lessons were orderly, with rules and structures governing the placement of the words. Learning Spanish by being completely immersed in it was more difficult. One had to learn both the rules and the vocabulary from the context, and it was easy to make a mistake._

 _Pedro must had sensed Henry's embarrassment as he stopped in front of Henry. "Your Spanish is improving."_

 _Henry smiled as the wind cooled his face. "Thank you."_

 _Pedro resumed his walk. Instead of leading Henry toward the main hatch, Pedro walked to the ship's guardrail and leaned on it. Puzzled, Henry followed him._

 _Pedro took a deep breath. "When we dock in a few days, I will no longer serve as the ship's physician. Instead, I will return to A Coruña and set up my own practice." He turned and looked at Henry. "Would you like to join me? I could use someone of your expertise."_

 _Henry looked over the guardrail at the ocean. He had planned to return home as soon as the ship docked._

 _The start of Pedro's voice caused Henry to turn to the older man. "You miss your family and friends."_

 _Henry nodded._

" _What if you joined me for a few months? You can earn your passage home. I would hate for you to find yourself in indentured servitude due to a lack of funds."_

 _Henry bit his lower lip and looked out at the ocean. Pedro was correct. Henry needed the money for passage, and indentured servitude would prevent him from seeing his family and friends for seven more years. A few months in A Coruña would give him not only the time to earn the money but also more time to determine how to describe his experiences once he returned home._

 _Smiling, Henry turned toward Pedro and extended his hand. "It will be an honor to work with you."_

 _Pedro extended his and grasped Henry's hand in a shake. "I will be pleased to call you my partner." Pedro clasped his free hand on Henry's shoulder, and the two men began their way back to their patients._

 _ **Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, New York City, Present-Day**_

A couple of squeaks on the wax floor pulled Henry out of his thoughts. He hastily returned his folders to their place on his desk before looking to see who was there. When Henry's eyes saw the squeaks' creator, he rolled his eyes and softly groaned. It was the young man whom Henry encountered yesterday at the apartment complex. Apparently, this was Wahl.

Henry watched Wahl turn on the computers, the monitors, and the x-ray lamps. Henry had to give Wahl some credit; he dressed appropriately for work. The younger man's black long-sleeved sweater was covered with a blue scrub top. An apron covered both the scrub top and the man's black jeans. His hands were covered with a pair of gloves. His brown hair and beard were well-kempt as to prevent any contamination of the corpses.

Henry sighed as he rose to meet his assistant. Henry felt that, as he didn't know the man, he could not ask him anything about his past. Instead, Henry must learn about his past through more indirect means.

Wahl turned around as Henry walked into the autopsy room and slipped on a pair of gloves and a black apron. "Henry!" Wahl closed the distance between them and enthusiastically bear-hugged the medical examiner. Henry froze at the unexpected gesture. He slowly reached his arms around Wahl.

Wahl finally let go of Henry. "I'm so sorry about ignoring you yesterday. Nate—Dr. McNamara—called me just as I began my examination of the body, and I had to get back to work. Anyway, it's been a few days since we've seen you. How are you feeling? Everyone misses you, especially…"

Henry raised his right hand to stop Wahl's rambling. "I'm feeling much better. Thank you for asking." He noticed Wahl's grin and realized that his assistant might talk all day instead of work. Henry took a deep breath. "So, who are we examining today?"

Wahl's grin widened as the two men walked into the morgue. "Actually, two bodies. There's the one we found yesterday." Henry felt a cold tingle throughout his body as he remembered his illness while examining the deceased. Wahl's expression changed to a more serious one. "Or, rather, you found yesterday."

The grin returned as the assistant medical examiner opened a cooler and pulled a table out. "And then, there's this one." The men transferred the body first onto the gurney and then to the table closest to the morgue.

As Wahl moved a lamp and a monitor closer to the table, he continued. "FDNY found him, or her, last Wednesday in an apartment complex. I've been fascinated by this one looks like a body out of one of my films."

Henry studied the body for a minute, in part to see the reason for Wahl's interest in it. The burns made the face seemingly unrecognizable while the clothes appeared to be burnt or melted in the skin. The person's left arm had been moved off to the side of the body prior to death; the victim's palm laid on the table. Although the face was unrecognizable, it appeared as though someone had closed the deceased's eyes about the time of death.

The charred skin would make an autopsy very difficult. Henry tried to remember how to perform one. Nothing came to mind. A sudden surge of adrenaline filled his body at that moment. If he could not perform an autopsy, then he would be exposed as a fraud.

Henry quickly glanced away to compose himself. His superiors obviously had hired him long before his amnesia because of his education and skills; he certainly would had known how to perform an autopsy. There must be something in his experiences so far that should be analogous to one. He thought about his experiences in the hospital. _Examining a body would be similar to treating an illness or an injury, would it?_ There, however, was no way to confirm his assumption.

Henry looked over at Wahl. The young man seemed inexperienced. "Mr. Wahl, how long have you been working here?"

Wahl looked slightly surprised before he answered. "Today's the twelfth day. I haven't worked this many hours since my first semester of college. I was covering for a fellow barista at Starbucks when…"

Henry let Wahl ramble for a couple of minutes. Wahl had been working for the OCME for a longer time than Henry thought. He wondered how a young man so full of life would choose to work with the dead. Somewhere in Wahl's past, there must had been a death that deeply affected him.

Henry took a closer look at Wahl. Under the young man's smiling face was a hint of fatigue, perhaps for his illness yesterday. A lack of sleep combined with malnourishment and an illness could cause Wahl to lose touch with reality quickly. In this profession, that would be dangerous.

Wahl finally stopped long enough to breathe. Henry saw his chance. "Why don't you go home and get some rest? We can perform the autopsy tomorrow."

Wahl thought for a second and smiled. "Thank you!"

Henry felt relieved at Wahl's willingness to wait another day. Wahl moved toward him. He threw his hand up to stop a second hug. Wahl nodded his head and backed away from him. "Okay! Enough hugs for one day, huh? Don't want to overwhelm you on your first day back."

As they placed the body back on the gurney, Wahl spoke up. "What do you plan to do today?"

Henry thought for a minute. He realized that he needed to find a way to perform an autopsy. The delay would give him more time to research the technique. "I planned to catch up on my paperwork. I'm afraid that I'm a bit behind due to my hospitalization."

The men placed the body back into the cooler and returned to the room. They threw the gloves into a trash can and placed their aprons in a laundry hamper in the room. Wahl removed his scrubs and walked over to the desk with the computer. He slipped on a black jacket that he draped over the chair. After he retrieved a Metro card lanyard from the lamp, he bent over and pulled out a black messenger bag and an umbrella. He slung the bag over his left shoulder before turning to Henry. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry waved and watched as Wahl left the room to catch the elevator. Henry returned to his office and sat down at his desk. He sighed when he realized that he had another daydream. He worried that three daydreams within a week was a sign that he was losing touch with reality.

Henry became startled as he realized that he had remembered the latest one, an apparent continuation of the second, when talking to Wahl. He wondered why he did so. The answer had to lie in the daydreams themselves. In all three, he received assistance from someone who knew his situation, the woman in the first one and the doctor in the next two. Henry must had subconsciously followed their lead.

Maybe he could use all three daydreams to help him. Henry studied the bookshelves, seeking an imperfect replacement for the people who could help him with his memory issues. Henry bit his lower lip again. Then, he pulled a couple of books off the shelves. Studying would be easier than learning on the job. He looked down at the location of his scar. Maybe his studies could also reveal what created it. He pulled a third book off the shelves and placed it before him. He opened it and began to read.

* * *

Lucas held his umbrella next to him as he took his seat on the train. He tried to stifle a yawn, but it escaped. He still felt somewhat weak from whatever made him sick yesterday and tired from the past eleven days of work. He wanted to call in sick today.

He, however, went to work this morning as he wanted to see Henry. Lucas felt like a lousy friend. His workload prevented him from seeing his friend in the hospital and during his first day at home. Yet, he had hoped for a chance to see how Henry was doing. When Lucas saw Henry standing near the stairwell yesterday, he knew that Henry would be at work today and that they could catch up now.

Lucas woke up as he replayed the morning's events in his mind. Something was _definitely_ wrong with Henry. He wasn't wearing one of his trademark three-piece suits—or NYPD sweats. There was no scarf on the back of Henry's chair. Lucas didn't see Henry's pocket watch on him. Lucas gasped. Henry wore a wristwatch; Lucas didn't think that he even _owned_ one. Honestly, the look was kind of preppy on Henry.

Henry's hug wasn't much better. For a guy who was born in the 1770s, he had learned to get with the modern times. Henry's hugs usually were either slightly awkward, like the few times Lucas hugged the immortal, or totally genuine, like the ones Lucas saw Henry give Jo on a couple of occasions. Today, his hug was almost mechanical in nature, stiff and slow.

It wasn't the preppy look or Henry's embrace that convinced Lucas of his mentor's weird behavior. It could had been laundry day at the Morgans, and Henry could still recovering from whatever had happened to him. It wouldn't be the first time Henry's health affected his ability to hug. Henry had cried out in pain when Lucas had hugged him during his first visit to McSorley's years ago. Then again, being tortured would cause a lot of pain if someone survived it.

The tipping point was Henry's use of "Mr. Wahl" and the look on his face while they looked at the body. Lucas hadn't heard Henry call him Mr. Wahl that often. Their first day working together, Henry had used it as a way of addressing him directly. It had stopped later that evening when Henry asked Lucas why he was still working at seven o'clock. Since then, Henry only used the more formal address when they needed to talk to superiors and CEOs who challenged his and Lucas' autopsy findings.

As for the blank stares, puzzled looks, and, at one point, a look of fear, it was like Henry didn't know who Lucas was or how to perform an autopsy. The latter was second nature to Henry due to his studies of death. As one of the world's first modern MEs, he'd seen quite a few deaths in his time, both as a practicing doctor and as an ME. But not every ME had died and been reborn over 150 times in over 200 years, by Lucas' count of all of the deaths he knew about. Henry had documented all of the new, unusual ones as he had originally sought a "cure" for his immortality. Lately, Henry's records had seemed more out of habit, like a morbid type of diary, or for future reference. Lucas didn't know which one it was, but he knew he would find out soon enough.

As for knowing Lucas, it took three years for Henry to start talking to him as a friend. Lucas suspected Henry changed his mind after hearing Lucas' comment to Jo that Henry didn't have friends. Lucas, however, knew that Jo had a lot to do with it. Her hotness had induced Lucas to talk during their first meeting. He could only imagine the effect that she had on Henry. Since that fateful day, though, Lucas learned that Henry had been storing every single thing that Lucas had ever mentioned in his memory for future reference. Henry began sharing more details about his life, and Lucas became one of the first people, aside from Abe, to learn that Henry was immortal.

Lucas leaned forward and almost dropped his umbrella onto the floor. There were two possible explanations for what had happened to Henry. One, something could had happened during Henry's latest rebirth/awakening. Neither Henry nor Abe knew how Henry became immortal. Lucas had always figured that Henry had somehow acquired his "superpower" from something he did long ago. It could had been in something he ate. He could had swum in some enchanted waters. He could had acquired it during a hot date one night in his teen years.

Anyways, Henry might had encountered an unusual chemical or a parasite in the East River last week. If that were the case, it could had wreaked havoc on Henry's biology and caused the change in his behavior. It would be up to Lucas and the team to determine the cause and to find the antidote. If they couldn't find one, they could always send him for another unexpected swim and see if that would help.

The other option seemed just as likely—aliens. They could had abducted Henry and replaced him with a clone. Meanwhile, on their spaceship, they could be holding the real Henry hostage until his double completed his mission. Scratch that. Knowing Henry, he's probably fighting the aliens off with some 19th-century tricks…

Lucas paused for a moment. If he mentioned that idea to anyone, he could be committed to Bellevue by the end of the day.

The train stopped. Lucas looked out the window to see if he might had missed his stop. He hadn't. He wondered if Abe and Jo might had noticed Henry's behavior. He reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone but decided against calling either of them. Jo and Mike were likely on a case, and they wouldn't like the interruption. As for Abe, he hadn't had much time to rest; the older man had been worrying about and then caring for his dad for the past week. A chance to compare notes with either Abe or Jo would have to wait until later.

Lucas finally arrived at his stop and left the train. He was probably worrying about nothing. Henry had mentioned that he was spending the day doing paperwork. The man was a very meticulous note-taker, and his insistence on using paper and pen had been a lifesaver on more than one occasion. Lucas should be concerned the day Henry stopped doing it altogether. Unless he decided to join the Digital Age and learned how to use a computer.

Lucas thought for a moment. Then again, he would be wise to keep an eye on Henry while they worked, just in case something was up. There were too many weird things going on with his mentor.

Lucas exited the station and opened his umbrella to shield himself from the light drizzle. As he made his way back to his apartment, he felt the fatigue of the last twelve days catching up to him. Lucas planned to go back to bed when he got home. When he neared his complex, he suddenly had the feeling that he had forgotten to do something back at the OCME. Lucas shook his head. Whatever he was supposed to do, he would find out from Henry tomorrow. Right now, Lucas' primary concern was following Henry's orders to get some rest.

* * *

A knock on the door near the hallway interrupted Henry's reading. He closed his book and placed the books on the floor next to his umbrella. Wahl had probably returned because he had forgotten something. If Wahl saw Henry's books, he would immediately learn of his superior's incompetency and might report him to their superiors.

He smiled as a second possibility crossed his mind. He hoped that he would see Detective Martinez at the door. He chided himself. Unless her supervisors asked her to challenge a finding, she would have no reason to visit the OCME.

Henry looked at the source of the sound. Instead of Detective Martinez or Wahl, Henry saw a middle-aged man with spiked black hair and a goatee enter the autopsy room. He wore glasses, a white lab coat, and black dress pants. Henry tried to remember if he had ever seen the man before, but he couldn't.

The man walked through the room. He peered into the morgue for a minute and then continued his walk. A couple of seconds later, he knocked on Henry's office door. "Hey, Morgan, I was looking for Wahl. I wanted to see if he wanted to assist me today. Since you're here, I guess he's busy."

Henry felt a little disappointed. He didn't realize that Wahl wasn't always his partner. He knew that he must tell his colleague, even if it risked angering him. "I sent him home."

Henry studied the man. The man's eyebrows were raised at first. A few seconds later, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good!"

Henry motioned for the man to take a seat. The man stepped in and walked around the chairs. Realizing that Henry might not know who he is, he extended his hand. "Jeff Newell. My office is a couple of doors down. Please call me Jeff."

Henry shook Jeff's hand. "It's Henry."

Henry's puzzled look seemed to convince Jeff to elaborate on his point as he sat down. "The guy needs a break. Frankly, the OCME's been taking advantage of his skills since your hospitalization."

Henry was surprised to hear the glowing review of Wahl. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever you've been doing has rubbed off on him. This past Thursday, he and I performed an autopsy on this 24-year-old hit-and-run victim. The cops and I thought that she was drunk. Wahl diagnosed her with hypoglycemic shock; the lab confirmed it yesterday. It was almost like watching _Sherlock_ 's Watson in his private practice. You apparently have been an excellent teacher."

Wahl was apparently better than Henry thought. Henry knew that he would feel like a fraud if he took the credit. "A student has to be willing to learn as well, and it shows in the quality of their work."

Jeff smiled and leaned forward. "Don't be so modest. It also shows in the teacher's as well. Anyways, due to the shortage in assistant medical examiners, they hadn't given him the day off in almost two weeks. If I didn't give him an hour-long lunch break for a nap Thursday, he would had fallen asleep on his feet."

Henry's curiosity about the working conditions of his workplace got the better of him. "Has anyone else been treated in the same way?"

"Tori, my assistant, is thinking about quitting. She feels that she isn't getting the credit she deserves or the support that she needs. Don't get me wrong. She and I really appreciate you letting Wahl spend a couple of hours helping me almost two weeks ago so she could take her lunch break. She's still talking about it." Henry felt a smile crossing his face.

Jeff sighed before continuing. "Virtually every assistant who's worked with Washington lately is thinking of leaving." Anger filled the colleague's eyes. "If only Washington would get over his ego…" At that moment, a shadowy object appeared out of Henry's fog of amnesia before suddenly slipping back into it.

Henry thought for a minute about Jeff's comment. If the other assistant medical examiners quit like they planned, it meant even more work for the ones who were left behind. That, in turn, would cause more people to exhaust themselves as they rotated among the various medical examiners.

Jeff's breath broke Henry away from his thoughts. "I wish that there was something that we could do about this."

Henry rose from his seat and removed his lab coat. "There is something." He draped the lab coat over his own. "We can mention this to Human Resources and to our supervisors."

Jeff followed suit and exited the room in front of Henry. "Do you think it would help?"

"It will give them an idea of the working conditions here. Our assistants should not be made to feel that they are indentured servants."

The two men took a few steps through the autopsy room. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry saw Jeff slowed his pace and finally stop.

"Brent?!"

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Admittedly, when I started this story, I did not have the subplot about Lucas and his fellow assistant MEs being overworked because of Dr. Washington's behavior. It came about as I've been writing these first few chapters. I do plan to wrap it up very soon. (I personally want Lucas to be working with the team full-time!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note** : Thank you to everyone who is reading the story. I hope that you are enjoying it so far.

I apologize about taking so long. I developed a bit of writer's block about midway through the story. Ironically, I also was inspired to write three later chapters.

There are references for "Pilot", "The Frustrating Thing about Psychopaths", "Skinny Dipper", "Social Engineering", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

"What…? How…?" Jeff's voice wavered with the questions.

Henry saw Jeff staring at something. Henry followed the man's gaze to one of the monitors. He inhaled as he noticed the image. It was a picture of the body that he and Wahl had wanted to autopsy earlier in the day. Wahl had apparently forgotten to turn the monitor off before he left.

"Who could had…? What happened?" Jeff tried to fight back tears. Unfortunately, the appearance of one tear streaming down the man's face signaled that it was a lost battle.

As Jeff began a tearful litany of the man's life, Henry stepped over to the monitor and searched for the power button. At first, he couldn't find it. Then, he remembered the area that Wahl touched to turn it on. Once Henry found the button, he pressed it and, to his relief, saw that the monitor had turned off.

He walked back toward Jeff and placed his hands on the man's shoulders. Jeff startled at the gesture. Henry looked him in the eyes. "Mr. Wahl and I don't know who this is. We still need to conduct an autopsy to determine the person's identity and manner of death."

Jeff began to calm down. "I hadn't heard from Brent since about a week ago. It's not like him to not call me. I called the police, but they haven't done anything."

"Have you tried again?"

"No. I don't even know who to ask. This morning, I thought about running upstairs and asking Homicide about it."

Henry studied the man as an idea began to form. "If you would like, I could come for moral support."

"That would be great. Thanks."

Henry motioned toward the door, and both men exited the autopsy room. If no one could tell Jeff anything, Henry might be able to find Detective Martinez, if she worked in the precinct, and speak with her about the case. Maybe she could tell them who was handling it. If not, she could probably learn who was.

Henry looked back at his office as he closed the autopsy room's door. After he returned from the precinct's office, he planned to contact his superiors about the working conditions here. Wahl and his fellow assistant medical examiners should not find themselves in a position where they must choose between their wellbeing and their livelihoods. Hopefully, his superiors would agree to find a way to lighten their workload so that they could rest and maintain their health.

Henry glanced at the area where he placed his books. He would need take them back to the shop and study them in his spare time so that he could learn how to perform an autopsy. His knowledge took on a greater significance now. Henry owed it to Jeff to find the answers he needed in Brent's death. That is, if it were his body lying in the morgue's cooler.

* * *

The driving rain matched Jo's mood. She couldn't shake the look that she had seen in Henry's eyes yesterday. The last time that she had seen anything close to it, Henry was holding Adam's _pugio_ over his head, ready to plunge it into whoever was on the other side of Roman antiquities expert Aubrey Griffin's door. For a split second, she saw confusion and fear in his eyes as he processed who was actually behind the door and the nature of the visit. In Henry's defense, though, stopping Adam, avenging Abigail's death, and protecting Jo had been his primary thoughts at the time.

Jo sighed. There had to be a reason for the look that he had now. In spite of her attempts to convince herself that Henry was still recovering from whatever had hospitalized him, she felt that something had happened last week. Yesterday, her mind had run through the number of explanations for his state of mind. She even looked up the causes of confusion online. Unfortunately, the medical information wasn't helpful; all the pages that she read stated that doctors would run tests to determine the cause of it. If Henry didn't show any confusion while in the hospital, then his doctors wouldn't have a reason to do the procedures.

She then thought about Adam. Lately, he had been very quiet. There had been no unexpected phone calls during cases, attempts on Henry's life, or threats toward the team. If he had anything to do with Henry's confusion, he would be contacting Henry soon to "discuss" it.

Jo looked over at Mike. Ordinarily, they would take turns driving, but, today, she was glad that he was behind the wheel. She needed time to compose herself so that she could conduct the current investigation objectively. Before they left work yesterday, the fire marshal had called and said that he had a couple of leads for her and Mike. They were braving today's weather so that they could see what he had learned.

The start of Mike's voice pulled Jo out of her thoughts. "I still can't believe Doc sold a table yesterday. I know that he's becoming a skilled interrogator, but I would be terrified to buy anything from him and Abe because of his line of questioning."

"He probably would sell it if it belonged to Nora."

Mike nodded his head in thought. "Good point. After everything that woman put him through, I would be very surprised if he still had anything of hers."

Jo turned to look out the windshield again. Nora was one of the main reasons why Henry was very reluctant to talk about his past. Her disbelief of his story in spite of the new scar which was evidence that he told her the truth, her decision to have him committed to Bedlam, his experiences there, and her public attempt to kill him fifty years later all psychologically scarred him for life. Because of the fears and pain that Nora had caused him, Henry trusted only a few people with the knowledge of his condition over the centuries: the Irish Catholic priest who was his cellmate in Southwark Prison, his friend James Carter, Abigail, Abe, Jo, Lucas, Mike, and Lt. Reece.

In Jo's case, he trusted her completely since the minute they met. During their first year of working together, he had constantly dropped hints about his immortality and told her pieces of his story. On many occasions, he even put his life on the line without any hesitation about dying in front of her. When he revealed his condition to her, he came clean about everything, even the steps that he had taken to preserve his secret. She knew, both then and now, that he trusted her because she had seen the evidence of his immortality and believed him. Jo hoped that she would never betray him or make him feel betrayed.

The sudden silence of the car's engine pulled Jo out of her thoughts. She glanced over and saw that Mike had stopped the car in front of a red brick fire station. They got out and dashed to the open bay doors to avoid the still driving rain. Once they took shelter, Jo surveyed the buzz of activity in front of her. Several firefighters maintained their gear and the hoses. Others worked on the parked fire engines. The faint smell of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage filled the air.

Jo looked around for a door leading to the fire marshal's office. She motioned to Mike to follow her. She walked up to one firefighter working on the engine to her right and pulled her badge out of her pocket.

"Excuse me." The man jumped and turned toward her. "Can you tell me how to get to Fire Marshal Gideons' office?"

The firefighter pointed to a door to his right. "Go through that door and take a left. His door is the second door on the right."

"Thank you." Jo replaced her badge and followed the man's directions to the door.

Mike broke the silence. "Do you think they'll let me join them for breakfast?"

Jo stopped and looked at her partner. "Why?"

"I was so tired from this week that I overslept. Karen woke me up so I wouldn't be late for work." Jo noticed that Mike's voice had risen in defense. She softly groaned as they resumed their walk. If they didn't catch a break in at least one of the cases soon, they would be as tired as Lucas had been lately.

They walked through the door, and, a minute later, they stood in front of an open door. Jo looked in and saw an average-built man with black hair sitting at a desk and doing some paperwork. "Marshal Gideons?"

The man looked up. "Detective Martinez! I've been expecting you!" He rose from his seat and extended his hand to the pair. "This must be your partner." Jo glanced around the room as a smiling Mike shook the fire marshal's hand. It was a more modern and more minimalistic version of Henry's office. Marshal Gideons motioned for them to take a seat before sitting himself.

Jo's curiosity got the better of her. "You mentioned that you had a couple of leads for us. What did you find?"

"I've finished my preliminary investigation yesterday." Marshal Gideons rubbed his temples. "Honestly, this fire confuses me. It looks as though it originated near the water heater in the empty apartment's utilities closet. Yet, the apartment that the body was found in had sustained the most damage. We checked that apartment for the use of accelerants, but, so far, we haven't found anything. We're still waiting on the lab results to determine if one was even used."

"Could you tell if any other people lived in the apartment?" Mike asked.

"We found a few cups, plates, and silverware. I assume that they belonged to the victim, but I don't really know."

Jo thought about the families that the Red Cross had taken in. "What had witnesses told you about the apartments' residents?"

"No one seems to know who lived in the apartments. A couple of witnesses, though, told me that they heard something hit one of the doors several times around 10:10 in the morning. About five minutes later, they smelled smoke and called 911. I also spoke with an Officer de los Rios. He said that he was passing by when he saw someone at the window of one of the apartments. He couldn't make out who it was, but he thought that it could be the tenant."

Marshal Gideons looked through a stack of folders on his desk and pulled out a folder. He passed it to Jo. "All of the evidence that I have found so far is in here. I'll also send a copy to the medical examiner in charge of processing the body."

Jo opened the folder and flipped through the multiple photographs and reports in it. She looked up and smiled. "I'm sure he'll appreciate this."

Marshal Gideons looked Jo in the eye. "Dr. Washington claimed that my active 84-year-old grandmother died of age-related cardiac arrest in 2008. Somehow, he missed the staph infection that landed her in the hospital a few days before. Since then, I've learned to provide additional evidence to everyone involved in my cases."

"I'm sorry for your loss. Don't worry; we have the best in the business involved in this investigation." _He practically founded the field_. "What about the other lead?"

"I found one of the men who fought the blaze. His name is Mark Sanderson, and his shift starts now. You might find him in the bay."

The three parties rose and shook hands. They then walked out of the office and toward the bay. Marshal Gideons continued. "We're lucky that this fire wasn't worse. A gas leak caused a deadly explosion and fire in the East Village a few years ago. My crew and I were called out on it. The fire was so intense that we had to leave the building and use a defensive outside attack to extinguish it. That one still terrifies me as it killed two people and injured 19 others." He stopped and scanned the bay. A couple of seconds later, he pointed to a red-haired man standing in the doorway, apparently watching the now lighter rain. "There's Sanderson."

"Thank you."

Jo and Mike walked over to the man and flanked him. Jo glanced over at Mike. His eyes were trained on something in Sanderson's hand. "I thought that those were bad for you."

Jo followed Mike's gaze. When she saw Sanderson's hand, he slipped an e-cigarette into his pants pocket. "Nervous habit."

Jo pulled her lips tight as she reached for her badge and flashed it. "Any reason why?"

Sanderson tilted his head toward Jo. "This cold weather is making me a bit stir-crazy. I can't jog or enjoy the outdoors like I usually do at this time of year."

Jo nodded as she placed her badge back where it belonged. Even she wanted to take advantage of some warm weather. The unusually cooler temperatures seemed to taunt the city's residents as they waited for spring's first warm days.

Jo refocused her attention to the case. "So, what happened last Wednesday?" Sanderson looked momentarily confused. "The apartment complex fire at Columbia and Grand?"

"Oh, yeah, that one. We had two fires that day. We got the call about 10:15. When we arrived at the scene three minutes later, several men went in to evacuate the residents. The hose team and I went inside behind them. By the time we arrived, the fire was cracking and the smoke was so thick that we knew that we wouldn't be able to get out of there alive. So, we fought the fire from the outside. When it was out, the marshal and his team went into the building. We came back to the station and then responded to the other fire over on Catherine Street."

Sanderson stared out at the lightening rain. It seemed that he wouldn't be able to provide any more details at the moment.

"Thank you. If you can think of anything else, please call us." Jo turned to Mike, and the two walked to the car.

They got in and buckled their seatbelts. As Mike pulled out, Jo looked at the folder in her hand. "Wow! Talk about our breaks."

Mike turned and looked at Jo. "I still like Rowell for this."

Jo looked at him. "How so?"

Mike focused his attention back on the road. "His tenants could've complained about faulty appliances, and he refused to do the repairs. That, and it seems too convenient for him to be out of town when the fire happened. It wouldn't be the first time that a landlord did this. Doc probably has horror stories about these types of fires."

"I still think that Brewster or one of the other two renters might know something about this. We haven't been able to get in touch with them yet." Jo laid the folder in her lap. "Maybe Rowell can give us some information on them when he returns tomorrow."

She looked back at her partner. He needed breakfast, and she wanted coffee…and some more time to convince herself that Henry's confusion was nothing to worry about. She knew that they would be collaborating on a theory about the deadly fire very soon. He shouldn't see her upset when they discussed the case.

She glanced out the windshield to compose herself before turning again to Mike. "Come on. Let's get you some breakfast."

* * *

With Jeff following closely on his heels, Henry walked into the busy office. Several desks lined the walls, and several more sat clustered in the middle of the room. Four monitors were on the back wall, each with a different view of the building. Four officers wove their way around the desks as they discussed their recent findings. One officer stood at a counter on the right, looking through the file holders for a document. Detectives sat or stood at their desks, doing paperwork or making phone calls.

Henry's eyes darted from officer to officer. He hoped that he could see if Detective Martinez was here. He quickly realized that he had no idea who he and Jeff should talk to if she didn't work at the precinct. Henry's glance to the man standing to his right revealed a familiar face: the detective who accompanied Detective Martinez yesterday.

Henry must had been staring at him too long. The man removed the cradled receiver from his mouth and clasped his hand over the speaker. "Doc, I can't believe you sold a table yesterday. Who are you, and what did you do with Henry Morgan?"

Henry froze as the thought of the NYPD's knowledge of his amnesia entered his mind. The detective's smirk, however, quickly reassured him that the man was joking. Henry felt himself unexpectedly relaxing.

Before Henry could answer the man's implied question about the table, the person on the other end of the phone caught the detective's attention again. Henry looked down at the man's surprisingly organized desk. He found a nameplate, but all that he could see was the last half of the detective's name: Hanson. Henry knew that name; he didn't know where he had heard it before. Knowing that Detective Martinez worked here, Henry smiled and resumed his search for her.

The start of Detective Hanson's voice caused Henry to look at him. The detective had the receiver pressed against his chest. "If you're looking for…"

At that second, Henry spied a splash of purple in the sea of black suits and white dress shirts. He turned his head toward the color and saw Detective Martinez walking toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Detective Hanson hang his head in what looked like mock defeat. Henry focused his full attention on her. He smiled as he watched her wave to an unseen colleague behind her and then turn around.

Her smiling eyes met his as she wove her way toward him. "Henry! What brings you here? I wasn't expecting you to be here this early in the case." She stopped behind the desk directly in front of him.

Her comments refocused his attention to the matter at hand. Although he wanted to discuss Jeff and Brent with her, the question about her cases took a higher priority. "I'm afraid that your results will be slightly delayed. My assistant was so tired that I sent him home for the day."

He looked at her. A hint of confusion filled her eyes, and, then, they smiled again. "Good! I haven't seen him today, but he needs his rest. I don't think he's fully recovered from his illness yesterday and from all the work he's done lately."

Henry let out an unconsciously held breath. She felt the same way that he did about Wahl. Henry wondered if he and Jeff needed to mention her response to their superiors when they returned to the office.

His thought reminded him of the other reason why he was here. He motioned to Jeff, who stepped closer to the desk. One look at the man's face suggested that he could become emotional at any second. "Detectives, this is Dr. Jeff Newell. He believes he knows the person who was found in an apartment complex last Wednesday."

Detective Martinez shifted her weight as the expression on her face changed to one of skeptical curiosity. "How does he know that?"

"Mr. Wahl and I had planned to autopsy the victim when I sent him home. When he left, he forgot to turn off the monitor. Jeff saw the image on the screen when he visited my office."

At the mention of Wahl, a second hint of confusion momentarily crossed the female detective's eyes. She then nodded as she absorbed the information. At that second, Henry realized that the mysterious body could be Detective Martinez's case. Henry studied her face for confirmation of his theory.

"Henry!" A second feminine voice snapped his attention from Detective Martinez. Henry turned to the voice's source and saw an African-American woman in a black dress suit and white blouse marching into the area. She stopped in between Detectives Martinez's and Hanson's desks. It seemed as though Henry had seen her somewhere before, but he could not think of where. "Welcome back!"

 _Why did she imply that I worked here? I'm a medical examiner, not a detective._ "Thank you." He felt the need to elaborate. "It's good to be back."

"Lieu." Henry glanced back at Detective Martinez, only to find that she had turned to face the woman. "We're about to interview Dr. Newell."

Lieu nodded and stepped out of the way to allow passage into the office. The female detective motioned for Jeff to follow her. As he joined Detective Martinez, she reassured him that they wanted to ask him some questions. They walked toward a hallway, and Detective Hanson fell in behind them.

Henry lingered at the desk as he watched the trio. He was conflicted about what to do next. On the one hand, he was free to leave as Jeff had found the person whom he needed to talk to about Brent's disappearance. The interview would provide Henry with some extra time to prepare for his role in his and Detective Martinez's case. On the other hand, he had promised Jeff that he would be with him for moral support. Leaving now would essentially be breaking his word.

Lieu's voice broke through his thoughts and directed him toward her. "You're coming?"

Her authoritative stare made the question an order…like a military lieutenant's. Henry wondered if this could be the Lt. Reece whom Mr. Shapiro had mentioned yesterday. There was only one way to find out. He walked around Detective Martinez's desk and toward the hallway, remembering the detectives and Jeff's route with each step.

When Lieu passed him in front of him, Henry was relieved. He didn't have to rely on arrows to direct him to their destination. Mentally, he shuddered. If the lieutenant were to catch on to his memory issues, he had no idea what her reaction would be. With one word from her, he could lose everything that he had. For that reason, he hoped that she would never find out.

* * *

Lt. Reece joined Henry in front of the mirror separating the two rooms. For a minute, it seemed as though everything was new to the immortal medical examiner. Lt. Reece brushed the thought off. The events surrounding his disappearance last week probably caused him to be momentarily grateful to be alive.

She looked into the interrogation room. Dr. Newell was in the chair opposite the door while Jo sat in a corner seat. Mike stood to Jo's left. Jo leaned forward toward the medical examiner. "So, what happened?"

"I walked into Morgan's office looking for Wahl. We started talking about how the assistant medical examiners threaten to quit because of Dr. Washington. We were en route to Human Resources…" Dr. Newell's voice and lips wavered as he tried to suppress the desire to cry. "…When I saw Brent's face on the monitor."

"Who's Brent?"

"Brent Watkins. He's my cousin."

Mike raised his right eyebrow. "Wait! The travel columnist for the _Examiner_? My wife Karen loves his show _Watkins' Journeys_ on WNYL. She's always uses it to get ideas about where I can take her after our boys leave home." A couple of seconds later, Mike's expression changed to one of worry about Karen's reaction to the case. Lt. Reece suppressed a chuckle as she tried to imagine what Mike was thinking.

Jo's voice broke the short silence. "How close were you?"

"We may be cousins, but he's like a brother to me. As kids, we were inseparable. We lived five blocks from each other in Greenpoint, but we were always at each other's apartments. We almost went into medicine together. He didn't; he passes out at the sight of his own blood. He became a travel writer because he wanted to see what the rest of the world looked like. Yet, in spite of his travels, he always keeps in touch with me daily."

Jeff paused for a second. "He even calls a second time if he learns about anything happening here. In 2014, he was in Cambodia. One of his videographers showed him a live newscast about the train crash that killed 15 people here in New York. Brent called me to see if I was okay. I was; I spent over an hour waiting on the platform before I heard about the crash myself."

Lt. Reece looked over at Henry. She expected to see relief flood his face as he realized that Dr. Newell had not seen that particular death. Instead, Henry had a blank expression as he gazed through the mirror. It was almost as if he didn't recognize the event.

As Jeff continued with another example of his relationship with Brent, Henry lowered his eyes to his left wrist. He rubbed his right index finger under a wristwatch's band before taking it off. He started to put it in his cardigan's pocket and then decided against it. As Henry put the wristwatch back on, Lt. Reece wondered where his pocket watch was. She hoped that it wasn't somewhere in the evidence room. If so, she and Jo would be looking for it when they finished the interview.

"And now?" Jo's question pulled the lieutenant away from her observations.

"I hadn't heard from him since about last Monday. As I told Morgan, it's not like Brent to miss a call. I reported it to the police. They said that they couldn't investigate unless he had a medical condition or was a threat to himself or others."

Mike chimed in. "Where did Brent live?"

"The double thirties." Dr. Newell looked from one confused detective to the other. "I'm sorry. That's our nickname for 30th Street and 30th Avenue in Astoria."

"Did he have an apartment at Columbia and Grand here in Manhattan?"

"No. I would had known about it if he has." Dr. Newell leaned back and inhaled as he realized what they were asking. "I don't think that he knew anyone there."

Jo shifted her weight in her seat. "Did he have any plans for last week or this week?"

"His show's on hiatus as he needs to finish editing footage for this upcoming season. That's going to take a while. Other than that, he planned to guest-lecture at Baruch College later next month."

"Any girlfriends?"

Dr. Newell chuckled. "Unfortunately, no. Every woman he dated thought he was too geeky. Then again, we were the only two people in school who actually _liked_ learning."

"Did he have any enemies?"

"No. Everyone who's met him likes him instantly." Suppressed tears finally began to break free. "I still can't believe that he's dead."

Jo and Mike looked at each other and walked toward the door. Henry backed up and let Jo and Mike out. The two detectives quickly moved to the other side of Lt. Reece and Henry.

Jo looked at Lt. Reece and then at Henry. "Something isn't right here. I think we need to investigate."

Everyone looked at Henry. He swallowed and thought for a minute. "I agree." The expression on his face suggested that he was formulating his thoughts. "The body is unrecognizable. Mr. Wahl and I need time to process it in order to determine the person's identity." He paused; Lt. Reece used it to quickly lower her raised eyebrows. "I might be stating the obvious, but, if it is Mr. Watkins' body in the morgue, then we're looking at a murder."

Lt. Reece glanced over at Jo and Mike. Jo nodded. Mike's face read, " _He's always saying that_."

"Well, you know the routine." Lt. Reece watched as Jo walked back into the interrogation room and told Dr. Newell that he was free to leave and that they would contact him about the case. The doctor looked as though he wanted to hug her. He walked back through the doors and disappeared into the hallway.

Jo walked out of the room and joined Henry. "I know it's your first day back at work, but what do you plan to do today?"

He looked at her as they began to walk to the hallway. "I planned to join Jeff in informing our superiors about the assistant medical examiners' working conditions. After that, I wanted to catch up on paperwork. Why did you ask?"

"How would you like to join me in interviewing Watkins' colleagues at WNYL?"

They stopped. He grinned. Lt. Reece swore that Henry looked as though Jo had just asked him out on a date. "Well, the paperwork could wait."

"I'll come by the morgue when I'm finished with my paperwork." They resumed walking toward the elevator. Jo placed her right hand on Henry's left shoulder. He slightly jumped at her touch, but he then quickly relaxed into her hand.

"Is Doc okay?" Mike's question reminded Lt. Reece that he was still there. She walked off, and she knew he was close behind. "When I joked about his sale of a table yesterday, he looked like he wanted to bolt out of the office and flee the country."

Lt. Reece stopped and faced Mike. She tried to suppress her surprise at the fact that she wasn't the only one to notice Henry's unusual behavior.

Before she could ask Mike for more information, she noticed him peering around her. His right eyebrow shot up while his left one suddenly lowered. "A wristwatch?"

She turned around. Jo had left Henry alone at the elevators. Henry looked up from his wrist and boarded the elevator.

She and Mike looked at each other. He finally found his voice. "Do you want me to go and see if Henry's pocket watch is in the evidence room?"

The thought of Adam harassing Henry suddenly crossed her mind. "Not until he and Abe mention that it's missing. We might have a "situation" on our hands."

Mike nodded. "Adam hasn't called yet, has he?"

Lt. Reece scanned the area to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. Fortunately, all the officers seemed engrossed in their conversations and their work. "Not yet. He's been too quiet lately."

The two spent the rest of their walk to the bullpen in silence. Lt. Reece walked back to her office and sat down. She stared at the chair across from her. She sighed as thoughts about Henry crossed her mind. Adam could had been involved in recent events, but no one would know until he contacted Henry.

She wondered if Henry's unusual behavior was related to his disappearance last week. He could had witnessed a particularly brutal murder, or…. She tried to push the next thought from her mind; at heart, Henry was a doctor, not a killer. Yet, his immortality never removed his human nature. If someone threatened Abe, Jo, or the rest of the team, Henry could give in to his passions and take matters into his own hands.

Then again, according to conventional wisdom, two mysterious deaths in Henry's general neighborhood and Henry's disappearance couldn't be a coincidence. When Lucas and assistant medical examiner Tori Bouchard came to her office yesterday, they had informed her that Tomberlin's death took place between 10 last Tuesday morning and 9 last Wednesday morning. That coincided perfectly with Henry's disappearance. Last Tuesday morning, Abe had called Jo around 9. He told her that Henry had been released from jail around 7:30 and that he never returned home. The call from Officer Hannigan's partner came in around 11 AM last Wednesday.

After Lucas and Tori left, Lt. Reece pulled everything that she could find on Tomberlin. She compared the information to a journal containing information about Henry's life over the past 115-plus years. She wanted to see whether the two men crossed paths at some point. So far, she hadn't found any connection between the two men. Then again, she had only compared Tomberlin's and Henry's employment history and previous addresses.

Lt. Reece didn't believe that Henry could commit murder. In far too many cases, he had demonstrated a concern for the preservation of human life, even a criminal's, and a genuine care for those around him. It was very likely that Henry was a witness to either death last Wednesday.

But, even Henry himself would advise to not rule him out as a suspect just yet. Lt. Reece glanced down at her desk. She might want to pull everything that she could on Brent Watkins so she could compare his life to Henry's as well.

She removed the journal from the stack of folders that she hastily stashed it under when Jo walked into her office to tell about Marshal Gideons' findings. Lt. Reece opened it and resumed taking notes. She hoped that she could find the information necessary to clear Henry's name. If not, then they would have to consider a possibility that she didn't like.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I can't explain how Lt. Reece obtained the journal in the story, so I'll explain it here. After Henry reveals his immortality to her, he realizes that he could be accused of decades-old crimes. So he fills a journal with all the details of his life since 1900 to serve as his statement to the police. She keeps it hidden under the folders in her bottom desk drawer.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note** : Honestly, this chapter wasn't planned when I outlined my story. A certain immortal medical examiner and a certain NYPD detective stole it from me! xD This chapter, however, fits this point in the story a lot better than one that I had planned to write. (I had planned to jump straight to what is now chapter 11.) I hope that you'll enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Jo peered into the autopsy room as she exited the elevator. Henry and Lucas stood over the body on one of the tables. Henry and Lucas looked up from their examination, and Lucas quickly noted the pair's findings on his tablet. Lucas said something, and Henry blankly stared at the young man due to the latter's use of an unfamiliar modern pop culture reference. The autopsy room's uncanny silence caused the scene to quickly fade from Jo's sight, leaving only the room's empty tables and equipment. Jo shook her head; she had been daydreaming.

She stopped at Lucas' work station for a minute to steady her surging emotions. Henry's failure to call Lucas by his first name had reignited Jo's concern for the immortal. Since the fatal train crash in 2014, the two had developed an oddball friendship that bordered on a brotherly relationship. Now, it seemed as though Henry didn't know who his assistant was. Either that, or Henry didn't want to draw Adam's attention to Lucas and the rest of the team.

Henry's use of Lucas' last name wasn't the only thing that bothered Jo. Today, it seemed like he was distracted by something. As far as Jo knew, whatever Adam did to Henry could had unnerved her partner and had caused him to lose focus on the investigation. It wouldn't be the first time that it had happened, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. She hoped that something would cause Henry to refocus his attention on the case very soon.

Adam's involvement in all this, however, did not explain Henry's reaction to her touch. Since the Clark Walker incident, they were comfortable with hugging each other and holding hands during difficult times. Today, though, Henry had jumped when she had touched his left shoulder—almost like she was a stranger. She pushed the thought out of her mind. He could had been sore from last week's events. If so, it would resolve itself with time.

Jo inhaled and crossed the room. She stopped at one of the tables outside of Henry's office and studied him for a minute. He was reading a book. His arms cradled the tome. Occasionally, he stopped and made a note about something that he read. She smiled. She could imagine him studying for an exam at Oxford in 1798 or reading in his basement lab as he waited for Abe's return from a date in the present-day.

Henry looked so peaceful that she hated to interrupt him. The investigation, however, now took precedence.

She knocked on the door. He looked up at her. Surprise, a flash of fear, and then embarrassment crossed his face. "Detective, I didn't notice you standing there." He hastily closed his book and set it and his notes aside.

She suppressed her own surprise at his actions and smiled. "I didn't want to bother you."

"Let me get my coat." Henry rose from his chair and pulled off his lab coat. Jo's mouth dropped open when she saw his wristwatch. She looked over at his chair to stop her thoughts, and she noticed that he didn't wear a scarf to work. Then again, it was normal for him to forego the scarf in warmer weather or if he wore more casual clothes. She closed her mouth so that Henry wouldn't see her expression.

As she watched him exchange coats, her thoughts turned to their earlier conversation. "So, what happened in your meeting with your superiors?"

He turned to her; a smile lit his face. "They acknowledged the situation, and they have begun the process of hiring more assistant medical examiners." He tugged on his lapels and buttoned his coat. "In the meantime, Mr. Wahl will be working with me on a more permanent basis when he returns to work tomorrow."

Knowing that Lucas would be taken out of the OCME's rotation pushed the nagging thoughts about Henry's unusual behavior from Jo's mind. "That's great! He'll be thrilled to know that his workload is a lot lighter now."

She eased outside the door to let Henry out of his office. After taking a few steps toward the autopsy room's doors, Henry stopped and looked to his left. "Maybe I should attempt to rid the monitor of the victim's image so no one else will see it."

"Good idea."

She followed him to Lucas' workstation, where Henry took a seat. He awkwardly jiggled the mouse and woke the computer. He studied the screen for a minute and then glanced down at the keyboard. He swiveled toward Jo, causing her to step back so they could avoid a collision. He looked a bit sheepish. "I don't see why I still haven't learned how to operate a computer."

"Your parents were technological Luddites." The second that the words left Jo's mouth, she knew that they sounded harsh. Then again, it was the truth. From what little that Henry had mentioned about his parents, they had shunned most of the technological advances of their day. Jo blamed them for Henry's slow adoption of modern technology.

She looked down at him. He broke from his thoughts and smiled. "You know. I never thought of them in that regard. I've assumed that we couldn't afford the latest technology."

She glanced at the computer screen and then back at him. "You know. Maybe I can help you close the program."

He gave her a blank look, and relief flooded Jo. He naturally wouldn't recognize the term. Even when he had attended the University of Guam, he had handwritten all of his reports.

She spent the next few minutes directing him to the menus and options that he needed to close the program. She smiled as she watched his awkward movements grow more confident. She knew that it was just a matter of time before he would use a computer on his own. Soon, Henry had shut down the computer completely.

He turned to her, a smile on his face. "That wasn't too bad. I should had learned how to do this sooner." He paused, and his eyes met hers. "Thank you for teaching me."

"You're welcome. And you're a quick learner."

After he rose from Lucas' chair, Henry walked over and turned off one of the monitors. Jo took it as a cue to help him close the room. She walked over to the x-ray lamps and switched them off.

"Have you learned more about Mr. Watkins?" He paused. "I mean, Brent."

Jo turned toward Henry as she finished with her last lamp. "Not yet. We're running a background check on him and tracking down the officers Dr. Newell talked to."

They walked back to the middle of the room. Henry suddenly seemed a little worried. "What time did you say that you'll arrive at WNYL's studios?"

 _Nuts!_ She looked at her watch. "Around one."

His grin returned. "Well, we shouldn't keep them waiting any longer." He motioned to the door and allowed her to pass in front of him. She took him up on his offer and, together, they headed to the elevators.

* * *

Jo looked at Henry as he pressed the elevator button. She thought back to last week's events. Abe had kept her up-to-date about Henry's general condition, but he couldn't give her specifics.

The elevator doors opened, and they boarded the car. She was closer to the panel, so she pressed the button leading to the garage. After the doors closed and the car jerked, she looked over at Henry. "So what did the doctors say was wrong with you?"

He looked surprised, and, then his facial features relaxed. "Oh, right. Well…" Before he could finish his answer, the doors opened. They stepped out of the elevator. Jo tapped Henry on the shoulder so he could follow her. Due to the rain, she parked in the garage instead of in her usual space in the parking lot outside the building.

Henry's British accent kept her attention from wandering. "To answer your question, the neurologist performed the necessary diagnostic tests but couldn't find any evidence of subdural hematoma, toxins, or anything of that nature." He looked at her for a minute. "Personally, I feel as though I should had stayed in the hospital for a couple of more days for more tests to determine how I found myself there. As the neurologist was certain of his diagnosis, though, I couldn't question his judgment."

They stopped at her car. She studied him for a moment before they got in. As she buckled her seatbelt, she resisted the urge to sigh. She had hoped that the doctor had shared more information with Henry due to Henry's medical training. Yet, he knew as much as she and Abe did. The only comfort that she could take was that he agreed that something had happened to him.

She needed to change the subject. Just as she backed up, she turned to him and smiled. "You spent your first day back home reading."

His jaw dropped, and, for a rare moment, he was speechless. It wasn't like Henry to be out-Sherlocked in his observations, but he _was_ a creature of habit. Then, he lowered his head for a moment and grinned. "Yes, I did." He looked at her. "And I quite thoroughly enjoyed my book." He paused. "I wasn't up for any of Abe and my nightly rituals."

She knew that he wanted to know what she did that day also. Her memories of the past four days flooded her mind. "I'm sorry that I couldn't visit you in the hospital or at your place." She turned a corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his puzzled look. She inhaled to steady her emotions. "I've been busy with work lately. We got a case the same day you were taken to the hospital."

"The lethal apartment fire?"

Jo smiled. It seemed as though he read her mind. Before she could answer him, the now cloudy sky and drying city streets greeted them. She turned the car toward the studio. "Yeah."

"What have you learned so far?"

"So far, nothing much. All we know is that the fire started about 10:15, and, when firefighters arrived, the fire was already intense. Also, an Officer de los Rios noticed someone in one of the two apartments a few minutes before the fire." She remembered the folder that Marshal Gideons gave her. "Marshal Gideons will send you all of his findings from his investigation into last Wednesday's fire."

"That will be a tremendous help. I need to remember to write him a thank you note when I receive them." He paused. "Have you spoken with the complex's residents?"

"The ones we've interviewed don't know who lived there, and the Red Cross will not let us talk to the others unless we have a warrant. We're hoping that Eric Rowell, the building's owner, could tell us something when he gets back tomorrow."

Henry nodded and thought for a minute. "You're assuming that either Brent or Eric had set the fire. If Eric committed arson, why would he target those specific apartments? And what is his connection to Brent?"

"That's what we want to know." She stopped for a red light and looked at her surroundings. WNYL's studios were a couple of blocks away.

Henry paused for a second. "Maybe you should speak with Officer de los Rios. He might tell you who occupied the apartments. He shouldn't be difficult to find within the NYPD; the last name is rare."

She turned and stared at her partner. She and Mike were so focused on Rowell that they didn't think of Henry's suggestion. She knew that she needed to do that within the next couple of days.

A car's horn pulled Jo out of her thoughts. She drove the two blocks and pulled into WNYL's parking lot. They got out of the car. Jo stole one glance at Henry. She was surprised that the drive was normal. She hoped that the rest of the day would go as well as this.

* * *

A few minutes later, the pair entered the building and made their way to the reception desk. Jo noticed that Henry had become very quiet. She smiled; she knew that he was in observation mode.

She walked up to the desk. The receptionist filled out a form. Jo tapped on the desk, causing the woman to look up. "Excuse me, where can I find Craig Koop?" The receptionist looked confused. "The producer for _Watkins' Journeys_?"

Jo reached into her pocket for her badge. At that second the start of the receptionist's voice stopped Jo from pulling it out. "Take the hall on the right and go to the third door down."

"Thank you." She and Henry turned and headed for the hall.

As they turned the corner, Henry leaned toward her. "I'm curious. As all of your background checks are taking some time to complete, how did you obtain the producer's name so quickly?"

"Mike showed me the credits at the end of an episode." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the puzzled look on Henry's face. She thought, for a split second, that the look started when she mentioned her other partner. She quickly reminded herself that Henry didn't like watching TV.

A couple of minutes later, they entered the production control room. Two men and a woman sat a long desk. They seemed so focused on their work that they didn't notice Jo and Henry's presence.

"Craig Koop?"

All three people turned and looked at Jo. A blond-haired man stood up. "Let me get him." He stepped outside and faced right. "CK!" The man turned around and walked back to his seat. "He should be here in a minute."

A few seconds later, a man with dark brown hair walked into the room. "What's wrong?" He looked at Jo and then at Henry. "Who are you?"

Jo reached into her pocket and pulled out her badge. "Craig Koop? Detective Martinez, NYPD Homicide. This is Dr. Morgan. We're here to ask you a few questions about Brent Watkins."

"Brent? Did you find him? Is he okay?"

Jo glanced at Henry before turning to the producer. "We don't know. His cousin had reported his disappearance to the police again this morning."

Koop stepped back and leaned against the threshold. He inhaled. "Oh, man, no." He shook his head. Then, he looked at the pair.

Jo studied the man for a moment; his emotions threatened to boil over at any second. "Can we talk in someplace private?"

"Yeah, sure. Do you need to see Brent's office?"

Jo nodded. Koop led her and Henry to Watkins' office. Upon entering, Jo looked around the room. It resembled Marshal Gideons, but Watkins' desk reminded Jo of her own paper-strewn desk at the precinct. A couple of pictures, one larger and one smaller, sat on the desk. A bookcase sat beside the desk; several more pictures sat interspersed between the travel books.

She decided to start as she walked around the desk to see what was on it. "What can you tell us about Brent Watkins?"

Koop closed the door and leaned on it. "He's a great guy. He's so full of life and adventure that you can't help but to like him. He's always talking to his cousin Jeff and telling him about his travels. We rib him about not having a girlfriend; he's hoping that the right one will come along. We also tease him about his tendency to lecture." Jo smiled as Koop paused; she knew the feeling. "Then again, what can you expect from a travel writer for the _Examiner_ and a guest lecturer at Baruch College?"

Jo nodded, but her mind started wandering. So far, Koop's and Dr. Newell's descriptions of Watkins agreed.

Just as she thought of asking about the past few weeks, she saw Henry pick the larger picture up off the desk. She almost reminded him to put on his gloves. She didn't, though; he usually kept a pair in his suit coat's pocket.

Henry turned the photo toward him. "Certainly close quarters produce conditions that could generate conflict. Have you found that to be the case?"

Jo glanced over at the producer. Koop wrinkled his eyebrows. "Huh?"

Henry walked over to Koop and showed him the photograph. "This group photograph. It was taken while you were on location." Jo shot Henry a pointed look. For a man who didn't watch TV, he seemed to somehow know how the show was filmed. Then again, Henry had mentioned his own travels on many occasions, and he likely recognized the location.

Koop took the picture out of Henry's hands. "Yeah. This was from our Cambodia episode. It was the one time that we stayed glued to our phones waiting for word from everyone who took the subway here in New York. Lionel, one of our cameramen, lost his wife in the subway crash." Koop passed the photograph back to Henry.

Henry returned the picture to the desk. "That seemed like an unfortunate and terrible accident."

Jo studied Henry as he spoke. He had no expression on his face and no emotion in his voice. She resisted the urge to drop her mouth open. She couldn't believe that Henry had just treated that particular death like her high school history teacher did world events.

Jo heard Koop's soft voice. "It was."

Jo looked at the picture to steady her emotions. A familiar face jumped out at her. On the right-hand edge of the photograph was a man who looked like the one she saw when she and Henry had shut down Lucas' computer.

She turned her attention to Koop. "So, have there been arguments between you?"

Koop shook his head and leaned on the corner of the desk. "No. We're like family. The only time that we sharply disagree is over sports. By the way, all of our brackets were busted in the first round this year."

Jo picked up the photograph and showed it to Koop again. "Which one is Brent?"

Koop pointed to the man whom she recognized. Jo knew that she had to continue her line of questioning. "Did he have an apartment on Central and Grand?"

"No, his apartment is in Astoria."

"Has he ever mentioned an Eric Rowell or a Dean Brewster?"

"Who? No. Why?"

Jo studied the producer's face. It seemed like he was telling the truth. "We just wanted to rule something out."

Koop turned his attention to Henry. "Do you watch _Watkins' Journeys_?"

Henry dropped his head and chuckled. He then looked at the man. "I'm afraid I don't. I don't even own a TV." Jo smiled; Henry was going with that as his cover.

Koop continued. "Then, catch it online. I think you might like it." He inhaled as the weight of the news bore down on him. "Or, at least, the last of it."

Henry stopped Jo's thoughts. "When we mentioned who we were, you asked us if we have found Brent. What did you mean by that?"

"Brent hadn't come in for work last Monday. We initially thought that he had finally scored himself a girlfriend. Well, Monday turned to Tuesday, and…." Koop's voice caught in his throat.

Jo nodded. "It's not our normal area of investigation, but we'll look into Brent's disappearance."

Koop looked surprised. "Really? That'll…" He started stammering and then sighed. "That'll be great. Thank you."

Jo extended her hand to Koop. "Thank you for your time. We'll let you know what we've found. Of course, we'll have to talk to everyone else."

Koop shook her hand and then Henry's. "Yeah. Go for it. I'm sure they would want to help."

As they exited the room, Jo leaned over to Henry. "Filmed on location? How did you know that?"

She looked at him. She saw that Henry had the same look on his face that he had when he mentioned the places he's been during his long life. "I noticed Angkor Wat in the background."

She smiled. She knew that she'll ask him about his travels to Cambodia later. Right now, she wanted to focus on finding a killer, if there were one.

* * *

A few hours later, Jo and Henry exited WNYL's studios and returned to the car. Jo felt as though she needed a break to process all of the information. She turned to Henry as she closed the car door. "So, what do you think?"

They fastened their seatbelts. Jo notice that Henry looked a little surprised at her question. He thought for a minute. "They appear to have the same story."

She waited for a lecture, but none came. She caught a glimpse of him as she pulled out of the parking lot. He stared out the windshield; his eyes were filled with fatigue from the day's events. That could explain his lack of insight.

"You look tired." He turned to her. "Why don't I take you home?"

Relief flooded his face. "Thank you. I appreciate it. I do need to return to the office and get my umbrella and my books. I wanted to research a few things at home." Surprise, and maybe a ting of fear, returned to his face.

Jo pushed any worries from her mind. "Okay." She used the stop at the red light to turn to him. "I'm here if you need me." She resisted the urge to take his hand in hers; he might jump again.

Apparently, that wasn't necessary. His eyes met hers. He was calmer now. "Thank you."

Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to the shop. Henry opened his door, and the smell of red sauce, jerk chicken, and matzo balls filled the air. He got out of the car and removed his umbrella and books from the seat between them. He bent down, and his and Jo's eyes met. "Thank you for the ride home."

"Don't mention it." Jo noticed that he hesitated for a minute. It looked as though he wanted to ask her to stay for dinner. She wanted to, but she needed to return to work.

He must had read her mind. He slightly frowned. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, we will." He grinned. "Get some rest!" He closed the door and took one last look at her before he turned to his home's door.

She watched him as he unlocked the door and walked into the building. The drive home had been normal. He had told her about his hospital stay and his first days at home. Her mouth dropped open when he mentioned that he had left the hospital with a stack of nurses' phone numbers. Then again, she didn't blame them. Had the circumstances been different, she might had slipped him her number when she and Mike had rescued him from being tortured by one of Iona Payne/Molly Dawes' patients.

Jo smiled as she pulled away from the antiques shop. Henry might had worried her a few times today, but there were other possible explanations for his behavior. The drive home convinced her, at least for now, that she was worried about nothing. Yet, she had no idea what tomorrow would bring. She hoped that this was the start of things returning to normal. If not, then she had no idea what would happen next.

* * *

Henry opened the oven door and checked the leftover lasagna for the fifth time. The cheese bubbled this time, indicating that it was ready to eat. He pulled it out and set the dish on the island between the salad and the garlic bread. He placed both hands on the countertop and smiled as he admired his work. For a first-time chef, he thought that he did very well with dinner tonight.

He was so tired from the day's events that he wasn't in the mood to cook. He, however, needed a distraction from his thoughts, and preparing dinner would be a way that he could help Abe. He hadn't expected to join the detectives' investigation. When Detectives Martinez and Hanson and Lt. Reece, as Henry had remembered Detective Martinez calling her boss yesterday, included him in their discussion about Jeff's answers to their questions, Henry immediately thought that they were Jeff's best hope for finding Brent.

They, however, expected more from him, almost as if he was a member of the team. Quite honestly, he didn't know what information they were seeking. He decided to use whatever limited experience that he had to answer their unspoken question. Apparently, his answer satisfied everyone. As for his and Detective Martinez's visit to WNYL, his questions were meant to clear up some confusion. They seemingly had performed the same function for Detective Martinez also.

Henry smiled at the thought of Detective Martinez. Even though she was a relative stranger, he found that he enjoyed her company when they weren't investigating the case. She was quite easy to talk to. He didn't know what it was about her, but he wanted to tell her everything about himself.

He, however, had almost revealed his memory issues to her twice. When she had first come into his office, he was worried that she would suspect his incompetency. Her smile and her comment about not wanting to disturb him had quickly dispelled his concerns.

The other time was during the ride back to the shop. The comment about his books had flown out of his mouth before he could think. Fortunately, she had ignored it. At that moment, he knew that he had to be more careful around her. He wanted to enjoy every free moment that he spent with her. If she ever learned of his memory issues, he didn't know how she would react.

The bell on the shop's door rang, bringing Henry back to the present. Abe had returned home with the laundry and possibly some items that he had found at an estate sale. Henry removed the plates and glasses from the cabinet. He arranged them on the table.

As Henry finished setting the dinnerware on the table, he heard Abe's voice behind him. "Something smells good. You cooked dinner?"

Henry smiled as he turned to Abe's voice. "It was the least that I could do. I hope that you didn't mind leftovers." He studied the older man. Abe had a laundry basket filled with clean clothes in his arms.

Abe looked a little puzzled at first. He glanced at the island and then smiled as he turned to Henry. "With Mom's lasagna, no way!" He walked toward the bedrooms. "Let me put away this laundry, and I'll help you with the table."

Adrenaline shot through Henry as he remembered his books on his end table. Abe certainly didn't need to find them; he would prevent Henry from returning to work tomorrow. "Um, if you set my clothes on the sofa, I'll put them away for you."

Abe peeked around the corner. "Relax! You don't have any this week." Abe returned to his task with a smirk on his face.

Henry watched as Abe vanished from view. He must had thought that Henry's comment was a joke. Henry felt the tension in his body leave him. He set out the silverware. By the time he finished setting the table, Abe joined him in the dining room.

Abe sat down and took a bite of his lasagna. "So, how was your first day back at work? Was Lucas glad to see you?"

 _Who's Lucas?_ Henry pushed his fork through his salad. He had to say something. "I guess he was. It was difficult to tell."

"What did you mean by that?"

Henry looked up at Abe. "After I sent my assistant home, I found myself in the middle of a possible murder investigation."

Abe wrinkled his eyebrows. "Why did you send him home?"

"He was tired from working for almost two weeks without a break."

Abe nodded. "He had been overworked lately. I bet that he was thrilled to have the day off." He paused and picked up a bit of salad. "So, where was the body this time?"

Henry opened his mouth slightly. Abe's attitude about a person's death was too cavalier. Then again, the eager look on his face suggested that it might be normal for Henry to assist the NYPD.

Henry picked up a bite of lasagna. "Do you remember the newspaper article about the apartment complex fire last week?"

Abe nodded as he chewed. As he finished his bite, his eyes lit up. "Wait! You're working that case?"

Henry nodded. "Yes. We're trying to establish the connection between the body that the FDNY had found and one of my colleague's missing cousin." Henry ate his bite. He was pleasantly surprised; the lasagna tasted almost as if Abe had made it fresh. "I spent part of the day at WNYL with Detective Martinez."

Abe met Henry's eyes, and the older man grinned. "So, how did that go?"

Henry smiled as he remembered his day with Detective Martinez. "It went very well. We talked during the drive to and from the studio." He decided against telling Abe about his and Detective Martinez's conversation about his hospital stay. When she had asked him about it and had mentioned her inability to visit him during that time, Henry momentarily thought that she was the mysterious Jo. Henry chided himself; Abe had never mentioned Jo's occupation. That, however, didn't stop Henry from telling Detective Martinez about the majority of his life so far. She had appeared to enjoy the story.

Henry looked at Abe. The older man eagerly waited for more information about the conversation. "I almost asked her to stay for dinner."

Abe wiped his mouth. "Why didn't you?!"

Henry sighed as he remembered the look on her face before they parted. She had looked as disappointed about her need to return to work as he had felt. "She sacrificed her break to bring me back here after work. We will see each other again tomorrow."

Abe smiled.

"How was your day? Did you find anything at the estate sale?"

Abe's smile faded, and a scowl replaced it. "Those infernal Berkowitz brothers bought everything before I arrived. They were packing it all up when I stepped foot in the house."

Henry looked at Abe as the older man took another bite of his meal. He needed a distraction from the day's events. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Abe looked up. "How about I score us a pair of tickets to _The Flying Dutchman_?"

Henry took another bite of his meal. He had planned to study his books tonight. He, however, wanted to know his and Abe's evening rituals also. If _The Flying Dutchman_ , whatever it was, didn't last too long, he might be able to fit both into his free time tonight.

"Yes, I think that I would like that."

"Great! There's an eight o'clock performance."

Henry looked at the bothersome wristwatch and noted the time. "We'll have to hurry to make it on time."

The two men hurried through their dinner. As Henry helped Abe with the dishes, a twinge of guilt hit him. He seemed to have helped Detective Martinez today. Tomorrow, however, would be different. He hoped that what little that he had learned today would be sufficient enough to help him determine who died in the lethal fire and how. If it weren't, he shuddered to think about what could happen to both him and Detective Martinez.

He looked at Abe as the older man placed the last washed dish onto the dishrack. Their time together would give him some much needed rest and a chance to get to know Abe better. Henry hoped that Detective Martinez would understand.

Looking for clues to her possible reaction, he remembered their conversation before they parted for the night. She was the one who told him to get some rest. Henry smiled. That was exactly what he planned to do now. He could tell her about his and Abe's night when they would see each other tomorrow.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I _**do**_ plan to have Henry connect Lucas to his past, and it will be very soon. I promise.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note** : In this chapter, there will be an autopsy. I tried to keep it close to what we have seen in various episodes. Hopefully, my description isn't too gross.

There are mild references to "Skinny Dipper", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", "Dead Men Tell Long Tales", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

Henry yawned as he pressed the elevator button. He was still groggy from last night. _The Flying Dutchman_ had lasted longer than he had expected. When he and Abe had returned to the shop, Henry tried to read a chapter in one of the books from the office. The next thing that he knew, Abe was knocking on his door. Henry opened his eyes and jumped in surprise. He was still sitting up in bed, and his book had fallen onto the floor. Apparently, he had been so tired that he had fallen asleep while reading.

The elevator's bell pulled Henry back into the present. He stepped into the car and watched the doors close. His thoughts returned to last night. He actually had enjoyed his time at what he had discovered was an opera. After he and Abe took their seats, Henry read the program to see what type of production it was. Soon, the music started, and the actors walked onto the stage. Upon the first words, Henry realized that he didn't recognize the lyrics. He listened for a few more minutes, hoping that he would finally hear a familiar line. With each passing minute, however, the song became even more difficult to understand.

Frustrated at his inability to follow what was happening onstage, Henry decided to use the time to mentally review what he had learned earlier in the day. He began to list the few steps of the autopsy process that he had managed to read about before Jeff had entered the room. The music and the unfamiliar words, however, kept interrupting Henry's thoughts. He finally gave up; this wasn't the place to think about work.

His thoughts quickly turned to Detective Martinez. He had believed that she was somehow connected with his past, but the day's events confirmed that he was right. Apparently, they had been close friends before his hospitalization, and it showed in her knowledge about him and in her willingness to touch him in an intimate manner. The latter startled him when she placed her hand on his shoulder. Something in the gesture, however, immediately and surprisingly put him at ease. When her hand left his shoulder, he had felt slightly disappointed that the touch had ended.

Due to her familiarity with him, Henry wondered how he and Detective Martinez met. Based on the amount of knowledge that she seemed to have about him, he likely had been assigned to several of her cases. He wished that he could remember their first meeting—or anything that she had told him about herself.

Abe's light snore rudely intruded into Henry's thoughts about the detective. Henry looked over at the older man and saw that his chin rested on his chest. Henry started to tap Abe on the arm but stopped; after the past few days' events, Abe needed his rest. Henry turned his attention back to the opera. Abe would want to know what he had missed, and Detective Martinez would probably like to hear Henry's opinion about it. As he couldn't understand the language, he decided to focus on the body language and the scenery for clues. To his pleasant surprise, he could understand the performance's events much better. By the end of the opera, Henry found himself enthusiastically applauding the performers.

As they left the theater, Henry told Abe what happened during his nap. The two man talked about the show and about the rest of Abe's day during their return to the shop. Henry had eagerly listened to his roommate's opinions and insights, and Henry had found himself enjoying the discussion.

The elevator stopped, and Henry exited the car. He inhaled and walked to his office. Last night was a pleasant reprieve, but he couldn't avoid his work any longer. Whatever knowledge that he had would have to suffice. If he couldn't do his job, it was better to find out now than to have Detective Martinez learn of his incompetence through a botched autopsy.

Henry opened his door and set his coffee on his desk. As he exchanged coats, he turned toward the autopsy room. He knew which bodies that he wanted to process first: the burnt corpse and the one that he had found Saturday. In the case of the burn victim, Henry and Detective Martinez had discussed the similarities between the man in the photo and the body while they were still at WNYL's studios. They had agreed that the similarities were too striking for it to be a coincidence and that they needed more proof before they could positively conclude that the body was Brent's.

Henry chided himself for his cavalier attitude toward the deceased. He shouldn't had addressed the man so informally. Yet, the use of the man's first name seemed like an appropriate way to maintain his humanity in death.

As Henry tugged his lab coat's sleeve over the wristwatch and his blue shirt, he saw Wahl walk into the room and begin to repeat his actions from yesterday. Henry studied the young man. His strides and more alert expression suggested that his illness had passed. Either that, or Wahl had drunk a considerable amount of coffee before coming to work this morning.

Henry decided to join his assistant in preparing the room for the day. He walked over to the x-ray lamps and flipped the switches. He turned and noticed that Wahl had already turned on the monitors, the lamps, and his computer.

"Good morning, Mr. Wahl." The young man jumped and almost dropped his scrub top as he turned toward Henry. "How was your day yesterday?"

"I slept most of the day." Wahl smiled as he pulled his top over his black long-sleeved shirt. "The only times that I got up were to go to the bathroom and eat. By the way, I remembered why I don't eat canned chili anymore. The can that I ate tasted too salty and too greasy…"

Henry glared at his assistant, who seemed too eager to describe his day in detail, and then walked over to the glove box.

Henry heard Wahl's footsteps behind him. "Okay. So, how was your day yesterday?"

Henry took out two gloves and put them on. He decided about telling Wahl about the opera; it seemed very unprofessional to mention it. He smiled as he stepped away from the box to allow Wahl passage. "I told my superiors about the situation concerning the assistant medical examiners. The OCME will be hiring more assistants. Meanwhile, you'll be working with me from now on."

Wahl opened his mouth as he finished putting on his gloves. Then, he raised a fist in the air and pulled it toward himself. "Yes!" He looked at Henry. "Thank you!"

Henry and Wahl walked to the coolers, stopping only to obtain clean aprons and to put them on. Henry glanced over at the monitors; Wahl needed to know about his actions. "You forgot to turn off the monitors yesterday." _That was too blunt_.

Wahl stopped, closed his eyes, and dropped his head. "Nuts! I knew I forgot to do something." He opened his eyes and looked Henry in the eyes. "I promise you it won't happen again."

Henry stepped aside to let Wahl through the open door. The assistant busied himself with pulling a gurney to the coolers. Henry suddenly found himself hating to see the man's self-reproach. He bit his lower lip. "It was a simple error. Fortunately, your mistake may have produced a lead in the apartment fire last week."

Wahl stopped what he was doing and looked at Henry with widened eyes. "Really? So, who is it?"

"It might be Jeff's cousin Brent Watkins. He disappeared last week and hadn't been heard from since."

Wahl inhaled. "Oh, man! That's awful. How's Jeff taking it?"

"He's understandably upset, and I would like to start the autopsy immediately." Wahl solemnly nodded and opened the cooler with the body in it.

Henry pulled out the slab. Wahl's voice caused Henry to look up. "I haven't had the chance to take the measurements, note the condition of the body, or take hair samples last Wednesday. When I came back here with the body, I was ordered to put it into the cooler. I didn't even know that we would be working on it until I asked Jeff about it the next day. The only thing that I know is the estimated time of death, which is between 9:30 and 10:30 last Wednesday morning."

Henry's eyes widened. Two feelings vied for dominance. On the one hand, he was impressed with Wahl's attention to details. On the other hand, he wondered why the OCME seemed willing to compromise an investigation by allowing a delay in the autopsy. He hoped that Detective Martinez wouldn't blame him for any inaccuracies in his findings.

As they placed the corpse onto the gurney, Henry looked back at the trays. He didn't see any tools on it, and he noted a pair of pruning shears resting on the table nearest to the door. None of the cabinets had anything that could help him with opening the body. Apparently, his tools were—in his desk.

Wahl rolled the body to the table. Henry placed the pruning shears on the one behind him and helped Wahl transfer the body to the other table. He walked back to his office and opened his desk drawers. He eventually found a leather case lying in front of the folders in his top drawer. Hoping that it contained autopsy tools, Henry took it and walked back to the table.

Once he arrived, he glanced over and noticed that Wahl had placed a couple of trays near the table. One contained a clipboard with forms filled with unfamiliar—likely Wahl's—handwriting, various beakers, test tubes, and bags while the other was empty. Henry laid the leather case onto the empty tray. He unfolded the case and studied the contents until he located a scalpel.

Hoping that he was correct in his assumption about the similarities between an autopsy and surgery, Henry withdrew the scalpel from the case and turned to the body. He took a deep breath and positioned the instrument near the body's left shoulder. He inserted the blade. Surprisingly, his hands automatically made the necessary cuts. As he carefully folded the skin back, he wondered if he could use the pruning shears to open the body more; nothing in the case seemed to be strong enough to cut bone.

He turned to retrieve the pruning shears when the start of Wahl's voice interrupted his thoughts. "While you were getting your tools, I checked. Our victim is _definitely_ a he."

Henry paused as he removed the shears from the other table. Wahl's observation was another piece of evidence pointing toward an unpleasant conclusion.

Once he was back at the first table, Henry positioned the tool over the deceased's rib cage. Again, his hands deftly began to cut through the bone. To take his attention away from his thoughts, he decided to satisfy some curiosity. "You are so full of life that your career as an assistant medical examiner seems unlikely. Whose death had deeply affected you?"

Henry glanced up at a puzzled Wahl. "I know that I've mentioned it to you before." Wahl paused. "But since you must have encountered something weird while "skinny-dipping" in the East River last week…"

Henry wrinkled his eyebrows in puzzlement. _What does he mean by that?_

Wahl momentarily frowned and then smiled at his memory. " _Nightmare on Elm Street_ and _Friday the 13th_. They are the coolest! All the blood and gore…"

Henry stared at the man. He had no idea what Wahl was talking about. Suddenly, Henry had a feeling that he had had this type of reaction to something that Wahl had said—on multiple occasions before his amnesia. _How could I had forgotten any connection with him?_ Henry found himself wishing that he could remember everything that Wahl had told him.

The weight of the pruning shears snapped Henry out of his thoughts. He caught the shears before they fell and looked back down at the victim. He and Wahl couldn't waste any more time talking. Wahl stopped talking as Henry said, "Can we get back to the autopsy?"

Once the chest was open, Henry looked inside the body. He remembered what little that he had studied yesterday. He was wrong about the similarities between the two procedures; he needed a closer look at the organs themselves to determine the cause of death.

* * *

During the next couple of hours, Henry removed the organs—with, surprisingly, a hunting knife—and Wahl collected samples of the blood and digestive contents. The men examined everything that they had found. Apparently, the victim was in perfect health and had had nothing to eat prior to death. A quick check of the nostrils while Wahl walked over to the microscope to obtain several slides revealed that, surprisingly, the man didn't die in the fire. Henry looked at the man's abdomen. There was a stab wound near the stomach. Henry had no idea what type of blade would make that type of mark, but it was deep enough to cause the man's death.

As Wahl began to prepare slides, a male voice cried, "Hey, Morgan!" Henry turned toward the voice. Another assistant rolled a second gurney into the room and pulled it up to the table in front of Henry. "The CME wants you to look at this body also. He has some questions about the findings."

"What made him question the other medical examiner's judgment?"

"It's Dr. Washington. Who knows?"

At the man's name, a hazy image slipped into Henry's mind. He was standing in this room. He could see a man standing across the table from him. Two people stood to Henry's right; the person closest to him was a woman. The image faded as suddenly as it came.

Before Henry could think about what had appeared in his mind, the assistant spoke again as he placed the body onto the table. "It's a John Doe." Henry nodded. The man's religious preference and its autopsy rules needed to be taken into consideration.

He walked to the trash can and pulled off his grimy gloves. He then put on a clean pair and walked over to the table. A middle-aged man with some gray hairs peppering his dark brown hair laid there. Henry picked up a packet of notes which rested on the victim's chest and read them. According to Dr. Washington, the man had died of suspicious causes last Monday morning.

Henry scanned the body. Other than the usual postmortem changes and some unusual scratch marks on the back of the man's neck, Henry didn't see anything medical that could had caused the man's death. If anything, the man was slightly obese but relatively healthy. Henry then realized that something else had killed the man.

Henry looked at the man's chest. There was a single gunshot wound in the man's chest. Henry's eyes widened; Dr. Washington's notes didn't mention it. Henry pulled the overhead lamp closer to the body. The light revealed a lack of gunshot residue and some white fibers in the wound. Henry walked over to the trays and found a pair of tweezers and a bag. He walked back over to the table, took the fibers out of the wound, and bagged them.

He took a closer look at the gunshot wound. The bullet was perpendicular to the ground, suggesting that the incident was a murder. Henry had no idea how he knew that. To distract himself, Henry looked at the man's face. Something was familiar about it.

 _Henry entered the alley. A dark brown haired, middle-aged man who was dressed in a black business suit and white shirt stood to Henry's left. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot and the smell of sulfur filled the air. The man fell back and slid down the wall. Henry stood there for a minute._

As the man fell onto the ground, Henry jumped, causing the image to quickly fade. Henry closed his eyes to maintain his composure. The sights, sounds, and smells were quite vivid. In addition, he never had a visceral reaction to any of his daydreams. There was no doubt about it; this was a memory.

Henry opened his eyes and looked again at the man. The memory seemed consistent with a particular event. He was either a witness to the shooting, or…

Henry tried to push the idea out of his mind, but it stubbornly resisted his efforts. The scenario would explain his knowledge of how the two men that he and Wahl had examined today died and how the one whom he had found dead was involved in a struggle. _All three men died just before my hospitalization._ The thought in Henry's mind finally broke free and forced Henry to straighten his posture.

"Could I have killed these men?" The question flew out of Henry's mouth before he had the chance to stop it.

"Henry?" Wahl's voice caused Henry to jump and turn toward the man. Wahl stopped what he was doing and walked toward him. Surprise and a friendly concern was in his eyes. "No, you didn't. You're not a killer."

"Am I?" Henry heard fear and a tinge of anger in his own voice. "How else do you explain all three men's murders?" Adrenaline surged through Henry's body, and he felt the need to run to stop it.

Wahl looked Henry in the eye. "Um, someone else killed them." The calmness in Wahl's voice stopped the urge to run. "Look, I don't know. But, we can't say who did it until we finish our investigation."

Henry stared at his assistant. He was right; they needed more evidence to draw that conclusion. Yet, Wahl's serene demeanor didn't answer any of Henry's questions. The young man didn't know what he did before these deaths. Then again, neither did he.

Henry looked back at the body that they were working on. There was nothing more that he could do. Besides, he wasn't in the mood to continue with any autopsy. He took a deep breath. "Put this body in a cooler. Afterward, once you have finished preparing the slides, prepare the one that we're working on for release to the funeral home when we notify the family."

Wahl opened his mouth and then shut it. "Oh-kay. What about the body that you found yesterday?"

The pent-up adrenaline threatened to revive the desire to run. "That autopsy can wait until tomorrow."

Henry wanted to leave work and return to the shop. He couldn't; Abe would ask him about his day. Henry looked back at his office. He could busy himself with paperwork until the end of the workday.

He walked over to the trash can and disposed of his gloves. The thought of Detective Martinez walking into the room suddenly entered his mind. She needed to know what his autopsy revealed. To avoid any surprises, he should go upstairs and tell her his suspicions. Hopefully, she would accept his theory and investigate further.

Yet, the questions that she'd ask him would focus on the events before his hospitalization. Henry sighed as he walked into his office. As everything about that time was a nearly-complete blank, his answer would ultimately reveal his amnesia to her. He hated the idea of withholding evidence from Detective Martinez, but he couldn't risk losing his connection to her because of his memory issues. He would rather spend the rest of his life in jail and lose his medical license than have her commit him to Bellevue. Because of that, he wouldn't tell her about his thoughts unless she asked him. As he sat down in his chair, he hoped that he made the right decision.

Lucas finished wrangling the John Doe onto the slab and pushed the cooler closed. He took one last look at it. It wasn't like Henry to nearly panic during an autopsy. Nor was it like him to assume that he was the killer. The last time that Lucas had seen Henry panic at any point during an investigation, Lucas had walked into the room while Henry had tried to persuade Jo to stop her search for Adam's pugio. As for blaming himself for people's deaths or fates, Lucas had seen Henry blame himself for the death of Clark Walker and, mistakenly and unnecessarily, for the fates of the 300 slaves aboard _The Empress of Africa_. And he likely had blamed himself for his patients' deaths from his first day as a doctor in 1802 until he hung up his stethoscope in 1957.

Lucas wished that Henry could diagnose himself now. The wristwatch that Lucas had seen Henry wear yesterday wasn't a sleep-deprived hallucination; he had worn it again today. Henry had used "Mr. Wahl" once again in addressing Lucas. He had asked about Lucas' decision to become an assistant ME, something that Lucas had told Henry at the end of their first week of working together. There also seemed to be a gap in Henry's memory about the events from last week. Then again, he seemed to be confused when Lucas had mentioned last Monday's "skinny-dipping" incident.

That last one, honestly, wasn't _that_ disconcerting. The thought of Adam overhearing their conversation momentarily crossed Lucas' mind before he answered Henry.

 _Adam. Nuts! Why didn't I think of that?_

If Adam had given Henry an exotic drug or tortured him to the point of breaking last week, it would explain a lot of Henry's behavior. As for the mysterious deaths, it wouldn't be the first time that Adam had framed Henry for murder, and it likely wouldn't be the last. Proving the theory, however, would be difficult. Adam might brag about harming Henry, but he was also very careful to hide his actions. That, and there hadn't been any mysterious envelopes or packages appearing on Henry's desk recently. The only way to prove Adam's involvement was Adam's next "gift" to Henry.

Lucas walked over to the table and picked up a slide. He looked into Henry's office and saw Henry doing some paperwork. Lucas sighed. Maybe he should call Abe and ask the older man about his father. _That might not be a good idea; Adam might be lurking in the OCME, waiting to see what we do next._

Lucas affixed the cover over the sample. He hoped that Jo would come to the morgue and ask about the autopsies. Henry could always talk to her about anything. Maybe he would tell her what was going on in his mind.

Lucas set the slide aside and took another look at Henry. In a way, he hoped that Jo's investigation would lead to Henry. Lucas knew that Henry didn't kill anyone, and he knew that the investigation would rule Henry out as a suspect. Maybe Jo's conclusion and the evidence would give Henry enough peace of mind about his actions to let him focus on his recovery from whatever Adam had done to him.

* * *

Jo could feel a headache coming on, and it wasn't from her coffee. She looked down at her notes. So far, she and Mike didn't have a solid lead on the apartment fire. Rowell had returned home to New York earlier that morning, and she and Mike went over to the complex to find out what he knew. When Rowell arrived, he seemed genuinely shocked to see the building's state. Under Marshal Gideons' supervision, the trio entered the building. Rowell had located his files, but whomever Brewster had sublet the apartment to hadn't filled out a contract. As for the other apartment, no one had rented it in seven years.

Now, the only bright spot in Jo's day would be seeing Henry about the autopsy. It wasn't just the discussion of his findings that she looked forward to. She wanted to see how he was doing. He probably had spent some of his time last night resting. Maybe he and Abe had played a game of chess or had taken in some of New York's cultural offerings as well.

"Martinez!" The voice snapped Jo out of her thoughts. She looked up and saw a uniformed officer set a box on her desk—right on top of her notes.

"Yes?" She rose from her seat.

"We're backlogged downstairs. Since this involves a death, I was ordered to bring this box of evidence up to you."

Jo wrinkled her eyebrows as she placed her hands on the box. "Which case is this?"

"The shooting near Suffolk and Rivington last week. From my understanding, your guy's handling the autopsy." The officer then turned and walked away from Jo's desk.

Jo leaned toward the aisle. "Thank you." The officer ignored her.

She straightened back up, opened the box, and looked into it. It was mostly empty. She picked up the notes from the investigator and flipped through them. According to the officer in charge of the scene, an anonymous tipster had called 9-1-1 and reported two gunshots in the area earlier that morning. Officers had found the John Doe dead about five minutes later. There were no eyewitnesses to the shooting nor any weapon found at the scene.

Jo laid the notes down and looked back into the box. A patch of blue caught her attention. She pulled a bag out of the box and examined the contents through the plastic. She gasped. It was one of Henry's scarves. Particularly, it was one of several blue paisley cashmere scarves that she had bought for him for his birthday a couple of years ago. She smiled at the memory of him wrapping it around his neck and thanking her for the gift. His grin told her that it would be one of his favorite scarves. She swore that he might had kissed her on the cheek if Abe hadn't interrupted with his gift to his father.

Now, his favorite scarf rested in her hands as a piece of evidence in a man's death. She had no idea how it was found in an alley one block from his residence—and believed to be the suspect's. She inhaled to stop any tears forming. She knew that Henry wasn't the killer. Likely, he was a witness, or he unsuccessfully tried to stop the shooting by sacrificing his life for the victim's. That still didn't explain why the scarf was found so far away from the victim. Or, how it survived one of Henry's deaths, if he died there last Monday.

"It's his, isn't it?" Lt. Reece's stern but calm voice startled Jo out of her thoughts. The woman held Jo's gaze. "We need to talk."

Jo nodded, placed the notes and scarf back in the box, and closed it. She then followed Lt. Reece to her office. Once inside the room, Jo sat down in front of the lieutenant. She briefly glanced over at the other seat. Her mind went back to the day when she and Henry had told Lieu that he was immortal. It was the last time that Lt. Reece had used that tone of voice with anyone on the team.

Lieu took her seat and studied Jo's face for a minute. "It's not looking good, right?"

Jo looked at Lt. Reece's desk to steady her emotions. She noticed a journal laying on top of a stack of folders; Jo didn't remember Lt. Reece ever owning one. She looked back at the other woman. "No, it doesn't. Three mysterious deaths in Henry's neighborhood, his scarf being found at one scene, Henry's disappearance, and his unusual—for him—behavior lately." Lieu raised an eyebrow. _I'm not the only one who's noticed the changes in Henry._ Jo continued. "I know that he couldn't do it, but I don't know what to think."

"What do you think may have happened?"

Jo took a deep breath. "Adam must had kidnapped Henry last Tuesday. He threatened the team, and he hurt Henry when Henry didn't comply with his wishes. Since then, Henry decided to adjust his behavior to keep us safe."

"And the deaths?"

"Adam could be framing him for the two deaths near both Stanton and Suffolk. As for the apartment complex fire, that death could be coincidental. We can't prove anything until Adam calls Henry again."

Lieu nodded. "That's what I've been thinking." She glanced down at her desk and then looked back up at Jo. "The best course of action may be to follow the evidence, even if it leads us to places we don't want to go."

Jo nodded.

Lieu continued. "Henry is your friend, and don't ever forget that." Her face threatened to smile, almost as if she knew something that Jo didn't. Lieu, however, seemed to suppress her thoughts very well. "If you need a few hours off to calm yourself, take them. Both you and Henry _will_ need it."

A couple of moments silence signaled to Jo that it was time to get back to work. Jo rose from her seat.

"Next time you come into my office, don't go snooping through my stuff." Lieu kept her gaze on Jo. Jo opened her mouth and then closed it.

She then walked out of the office and toward her desk. Lt. Reece was right. She and Mike would have to balance their personal connection to Henry with where the evidence led them. It wouldn't be the first time that it had happened. It, however, would be the hardest as they had grown much closer to Henry since the first two times that it did.

Jo arrived at her desk and found Mike leaning on it, palms resting on the desk. "So, how did it go in there?"

Jo sighed. "We're handling a new case in addition to our two previous ones."

"The death a block from Doc's place?" Jo glared at him as she reopened the box and removed the notes. Mike raised both hands. "Hey, I didn't know if I needed to call evidence, Doc, or the bomb squad! So, I peeked in the box."

Jo closed the box and put both hands through the handholds. "To answer your question, yes." She walked around Mike and headed for the elevators.

Mike followed her. He was quiet for a minute. "You know, Doc couldn't have done it." He paused. "There's an illegal bar just off of Rivington. One of the regulars might have seen something."

Jo thought for a minute. It could produce a major lead. "Do you want to go tonight?"

"Do you want to bring Doc with us?" Mike pressed the elevator button for her.

Jo opened her mouth. Mike seemed to know what her next thought was. "I'll run downstairs in a few hours and talk to Henry about it. Hopefully, he's feeling better than he was yesterday. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't want to miss it."

The elevator bell rang, and Jo entered the car. She turned around and saw Mike wave as the doors closed. She inhaled and hoped that Henry would tell her something about all three deaths that they were investigating. Hopefully, they were all coincidental. If they were connected and if Henry was the connection, then Jo hated to think about what had happened—and what it meant for both Henry and the rest of the team.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** To answer Henry's question about forgetting Lucas entirely, it plays a role in the story, and I'll explain it in a later chapter.

As for the automatic nature of Henry's cuts during the autopsy, it is purely muscle memory. My inspiration for that comes from the first eight seconds of Henry and Jo's meeting. Notably, it's the part when Henry looks at Jo while he's cutting into the engineer's body. I thought that it was a nice bit of characterization, and I decided to use it in my story.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note** : I apologize for being a bit late in publishing this chapter. My mother had to go to the hospital a few days after I published the last chapter, and I have been helping her recover since then.

On a lighter note, I wrote this chapter in three days. I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Henry glanced up from his studies. The words on the page were blurring together, and he needed a break. He peered into the autopsy room. Wahl sat at his computer station, working on his reports. Henry smiled briefly; the young man had given Henry his space. Over the past few hours, Wahl had not only followed Henry's instructions but also took the samples to the lab, cleaned the slab and room, and had taken the laundry to the laundry room.

Henry was grateful for Wahl's distance. Henry had spent the time thinking about his connection to the three murders. He tried everything that he could to remember the details of the first murder. The thick, black fog in Henry's memory, however, enshrouded the events. He began to suspect that he had subconsciously blocked both the murders and, as a form of penance, his life from his mind. The psychology text before him seemed to support that theory.

Yet, a disturbed mental state didn't explain his unconsciousness and his physical symptoms from the first few days after he regained consciousness. Henry suddenly realized that he and Wahl had both become ill while examining the murder victim whom he had found. Henry wondered if the two illnesses were connected. He decided against it; he had experienced his symptoms longer than Wahl had his.

Henry's thoughts wandered to Wahl's comment about skinny dipping in the East River. Henry rose from his chair, turned, and looked out his window. Through the space between the buildings, he could see the river's choppy, swift waters flow past him. He would be mad to swim in it. Perhaps Wahl meant that someone had seen him naked near the river and had notified the authorities. It wasn't a perfect explanation, but it was better than none.

A serious feminine voice rang through his thoughts, "Can we talk?"

Adrenaline coursed through Henry. Expecting to see Detective Martinez in the autopsy room, Henry spun around and sat in his chair. He began to relax the second that he saw the unfamiliar woman. She stood near Wahl's desk. Her black hair was pulled into a high bun. Her perfectly manicured nails suggested that she had recently pampered herself after work. Henry shook his head as he wondered how he knew about women's fashion.

Henry's eyes trailed to Wahl. He stood, gazing at the young woman and running his right hand through his hair. "Yeah, sure. Let me check to see if I need to do anything else. We've been busy with a couple of new cases…." The woman's smile stopped Wahl. "Yeah, I'll go…"

As Wahl walked toward the office, Henry quickly closed and shelved the book. He pulled a folder from the pile on the desk and opened it. Just as he picked up a pen, Wahl appeared in the threshold. "Yes?"

"Hey, Henry, you probably already know this, but Tori wants to talk. I was wondering…."

Henry smiled and waved his hand. "Go! She probably needs a friend right now. Take as much time as you need."

Wahl grinned. "Great! If I'm not back before you leave, I'll see you tomorrow." Wahl turned around and clapped his hands. "Thanks to my brilliant work…" He paused. "Okay, thanks to Henry's brilliant work and my assistance, we're all caught up."

Henry continued smiling as he watched Wahl change out of his scrubs, gather his belongings, and leave with Tori. Henry wondered how long the pair had known each other. He had to admit that they made quite the couple.

He sighed. He wished to have the same thing with Detective Martinez, but the murders cast some doubts on those plans. Her decision to be a law enforcement officer likely stemmed from a sense of justice formed during her childhood and adolescence. He swallowed to maintain his surging emotions. He couldn't bear the thought of causing her additional pain as she visited him in prison. As he wanted a relationship with her, he hoped that he was misinterpreting the situation and his lone memory before his unconsciousness.

He looked down at the folder and studied the contents. Before he finished the first page, he heard a knock on his door. He raised his head and saw Detective Martinez standing in the threshold. Her blue blouse under her black coat drew his attention to her.

Henry let out an unconsciously held breath. "Detective, what can I do for you?"

She stepped into the room and sat down. "I came by to see how you're doing. And, yeah, to see what you've found."

Henry looked down at his desk. She deserved the truth…or as much of it as he could tell her without jeopardizing everything.

He gathered the courage and met her eyes. "The victim whom we believe to be Brent apparently didn't die in the apartment fire." Detective Martinez's eyes widened. Henry decided to continue. "He was stabbed in the abdomen. At this moment, we don't know the type of weapon used, but I plan to find out soon."

"Wait! So, we _are_ talking about murder here?!" Henry nodded as she opened her mouth and took a moment to process the news. "What else have you found?"

He swallowed and hoped that she didn't notice. "The CME wanted me to re-examine a John Doe whom Dr. Washington processed. The victim was shot point-blank in the chest. I haven't processed the body that I have found yet."

"What do you think happened?"

"I wonder if one or more of the murders might be connected to my hospitalization." _Shut up, Morgan! She'll arrest you for certain._

Detective Martinez's jaw dropped. She blinked and closed her mouth. "You know, we've been thinking the same thing."

"We". Apparently, the investigation had already begun.

She kept her eyes on him and smiled. "We're going to the illegal bar near Rivington to see if anyone had seen or heard anything about the gunshot victim last week. Do you want to come with us?"

Henry bit his lower lip. On the one hand, someone might recognize him and identify him as a murderer. On the other hand, he might see something that would jog his memory of that day.

Detective Martinez's voice pierced his thoughts. "I could take you home afterward."

Henry studied her face. Nothing in her expression indicated that she thought of him as a suspect. If anything, her smile and her caring eyes told him that she thought of him as a friend. Relief flooded him.

"That sounds great." He smiled.

He rose from his chair and exchanged coats. He felt her eyes studying his apparel. "With the workload, I didn't want to ruin my suits." _Morgan…_

He looked at her as he fastened his coat. Her surprised look gave way to a small giggle as she rose from her seat. He grinned as he realized that he liked the sound.

"So, what did you and Abe do last night?"

He stared at her for a minute. His grin widened. He joined her on the other side of the desk, and they walked toward the elevator. "We went to the opera…."

* * *

Jo got out of the car just as Henry finished his synopsis of his and Abe's evening and morning. She snuck a glance at Mike as he walked around the car. She noticed his bored expression suddenly changing to relief. She smiled; Mike had always felt that Henry talked too much.

Henry climbed out and turned to her. "How would you like to proceed?"

His words sent Jo's heart racing with fear. Ordinarily, he would already be walking into the bar and scanning the room for anyone who stood out. She took a deep breath and looked at the bar's florist façade. Maybe he suspected something that she couldn't immediately see. Either that, or he had learned last week that Adam frequented the bar.

Mike's gesture toward Henry interrupted her thoughts. "For that question, we should just send you in without backup."

She imagined the scenario. That might be the quickest way to find witnesses…as long as Henry didn't mention that he was on official police business. If that happened, everyone would clear out in a heartbeat.

Henry's voice caused her to turn to him. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Detective Hanson. I might accidently create a situation."

Jo's absent-minded rub of the photograph in her pocket kept her mind from wandering away from the task at hand. "Just follow my lead."

The trio walked into the bar. A big-screen TV sat on a counter and leaned against a wall. Jersey-clad customers filled the hastily strewn chairs which surrounded the business's tables. No one seemed to notice their entrance. The college basketball game airing on the TV occupied the group's attention. The few who weren't focused on the attraction stood around the room in groups or pairs.

Jo leaned her head back toward Henry. "Do you notice anyone yet?"

She looked back at him. For a second, he seemed confused. "It's difficult to tell, especially with everyone's focus on the game."

She glanced over at Mike. He was watching something. She followed his gaze. Standing against the wall, a jersey-clad man in his late 30s eyed them. She turned where he was looking. He was staring at Henry. As she turned around, the man bolted toward an exit in the back of the room.

"Stay here!" She dashed through the bar with Mike on her heels. She doubted that Henry had heard her. Knowing him, he was running out of the building and was finding a way to corner their suspect.

The cold night air stung Jo's cheeks as she followed the suspect out of the building and into the city. She barely noticed that they had flown over Norfolk. She hoped that he wasn't headed to Essex.

Unfortunately, his failure to change direction told her that he would disobey her wish. Jo knew that he planned to use the subway to escape them. She ran faster. With each stride, she hoped that she could catch him before he escaped.

The man continued running and turned toward Delancey. She followed him and turned the corner. She suddenly stopped, but her momentum propelled her a couple of steps forward.

The suspect was on the ground. Jo looked at the man's anchor. She expected to see Henry beside him, with Henry grinning as he celebrated his accomplishment.

Instead, disappointment filled her. A strawberry-blonde-haired man dressed in a camouflaged coat laid on top of the suspect.

Jo walked over to the pair. "I got him."

The man in the camouflaged coat complied with her unspoken order. Jo rushed in and helped the man to his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike move toward their "back-up".

She looked at the man. "Why were you running from us?"

"Your friend at the bar."

"What about him?" Fear rose in her as she thought that he could have seen Henry's latest death.

"Look, I work for Benatar Holdings." Jo recognized the name of the large corporation. "My boss walks by here every day in his fancy three-piece suits. Tonight, he comes into the bar with you two. I don't know how he found out about this place, but he did." The man started stuttering. "I'm going to be fired tomorrow for sure."

Jo pulled the photograph of the John Doe from her pocket. "Have you ever seen him before?"

The man inhaled. "Yeah, last Monday, just as I was leaving here. He was coming up the street from Essex. I turned and saw my boss, so I ran toward Orchard as fast as I could."

"What time was that?"

"I don't remember."

The smell of alcohol on his breath told Jo that she and Mike wouldn't be able to build a case with his testimony either way.

Jo sighed. "What's your name? In case we need to talk to you?"

"Tim Ledford." He interpreted Jo's silence as a sign that he could leave.

Jo turned toward Mike. He was still talking to their assistant.

Mike peered around the other man. "You won't believe who we've just found." The man turned to Jo. "Meet Dean Brewster."

* * *

Stifling her surprise, Jo walked toward the men. "You don't know how glad we are to see you."

"That's what your partner said."

She quickly glanced past Brewster in hopes of seeing Henry, but, to her dismay, he wasn't in sight. She turned back to the men and set her sights on Brewster. "Where have you been over the past few months?"

"My parents have been ill since the middle of last year. I've rented an apartment in Queens to be near them."

Jo glanced down, remembering how Henry had once told her that he and Nora had temporarily moved back into his family's estate to care for his father during an illness in 1812. "What about the apartment at Columbia and Grand?"

"I have plans to return. That's why I've sublet the apartment."

"Who did you rent it to?"

"Some man off the street. I really don't remember."

"Who?"

"I told you. I don't remember." The man was on the verge of shouting.

They needed a name. "Try."

Brewster thought for a moment. "He was about your partner's height, and he had a strong handshake. That's all I remember. I left so fast that I left everything behind." Brewster narrowed his eyes. "What's this about?"

"Brent Watkins. Do you know him?"

"No, not really. I read his columns in the _Examiner_ , but I've never seen him before in my life." He looked confused for a minute, and his expression changed to one of recognition. "How did he get into my apartment?" Brewster paused for a moment. "Was my apartment one of the two that caught fire last week?"

"Yes, it was."

"Is he okay?"

"He's dead."

Brewster's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. He looked away from Jo for a moment. He inhaled. "Oh, man." He looked at Jo. "I will _guarantee_ you that I didn't set the fire. I will also guarantee you that I don't know Brent Watkins at all."

Jo studied him for a minute. She was inclined to believe him.

"Do me a favor. Don't plan to leave town any time soon."

Brewster nodded and then left.

Jo turned to Mike. He rose one eyebrow and lowered the other.

"We lost Doc?"

Jo sighed. Apparently, they had.

"You don't suppose he stayed at the bar?"

"He must have." Jo bit her lower lip to control her emotions, but it was a futile battle. Worry had filled her earlier when Henry had mentioned that he didn't recognize _The Flying Dutchman_ 's lyrics. Now, her concerns about him threatened to submerge her again.

One glance at her official partner as he turned toward Suffolk inspired her next topic. "Did Brewster tell you anything different?"

"Nah. Just that he was heading to the bar across the street from Katz's to hang out with some friends. What did your guy tell you?"

Jo stifled a chuckle as she remembered her conversation with him. "Tim Ledford. He claims that he saw our John Doe walking up from Essex last Monday. When he saw Henry, Ledford ran toward Orchard."

"You don't suppose…" Mike let his voice trail off.

"No, the guy was drunk, and he thought that Henry was his boss." Jo realized that she needed to ask Henry about both men very soon.

Soon, she and Mike returned to the bar. Mike opened the door and stepped into the building. Jo started to follow him when she saw someone in the dimly-let alley. Bracing herself, she walked over to the silhouette. She let out a sigh of relief at the sight.

"Henry?"

Henry turned around, his hands in his coat pockets. "Detective." A slight smile crossed his face. "I suppose that you would like to know why I'm here." He sighed. "I thought that I had seen something, but I guess that I was mistaken." He glanced away for a second.

Knowing that he had just confirmed her thoughts, Jo began to ask him about Ledford and the John Doe. Henry's lost look, however, stopped her. Her questions would need to wait until he felt safe enough to talk.

"Do you want me to walk back to the shop with you?"

He looked at her and then toward his home. She hoped that he would say yes, even if it was just to keep him company.

He turned back toward her. "No, thank you." Disappointment flooded her for the second time that night. He seemed to have picked up on it. "I think that I'd prefer to be by myself tonight." He gave her a slight smile. "Perhaps some other time."

She nodded. "Well, good night."

"Good night, Detective."

Jo watched him as he walked back to the shop. _What is wrong with him?_ Ever since they had been assigned to this latest case, Henry had been acting nervous. It was almost as if he was feeling guilty about something. She wondered if he blamed himself for losing their John Doe, or…. She pushed the thought from her mind. They didn't have any solid evidence linking Henry to this yet.

She heard the door open. Mike was coming out of the illegal bar. She had to tell him something. She decided to tell him Henry's explanation. That should buy her some time to find some more evidence…or to see if Henry would tell her what happened that day. She hoped that, when they got together tomorrow, it would be the latter.

* * *

Abe grabbed a shirt from his drawer before closing it. As he pulled off his sauce-stained shirt, he muttered, "How could I have been so stupid?" He wished that he was slightly more careful in tasting the marinara. Yet, thoughts of Fawn were pleasantly distracting.

He picked up the clean shirt and held it up. He noticed that it was slightly larger than his other ones. He groaned; he must had put his father's shirt into his drawer last week.

Abe quickly set the shirt on his bed. He then found another one and finished changing. After refolding the immortal's shirt, Abe carried it into the other bedroom. He opened the drawer and placed the shirt into its proper place.

As Abe turned to leave, a stack of books caught his eye. He stepped over to the end table. He picked up one book and read the title. Hoping that he was wrong, he re-read the spine. He picked up the other two books.

He pushed together all three books and swallowed. All three volumes were introductory forensic pathology books. His father kept them in the morgue's office more for decoration than for reference.

The bell rang. Dad must be home. Abe returned the books to their precise spot and hoped that the resident Sherlock Holmes wouldn't notice. Abe left the room and hurried into the kitchen.

Just as Abe began to plate the chicken parmesan, the older Morgan appeared in the room. He seemed worried about something.

"Hey, you're hungry? I made chicken parmesan."

Dad crossed in front of the island. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry." As he walked to the living room, Dad took one look at the blueberry scones on the table and wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. Abe almost dropped his plate. Dad didn't know what his favorite dessert was.

Abe quickly set the plate on the island. "So, how was your day?"

Dad hung his coat onto the coat rack. "Mr. Wahl, my assistant, and I performed a couple of autopsies." He then started to walk around the room.

Abe waited for a description of the bodies. After none came, he asked, "And?"

Dad entered the dining area, his head on his head. "Detectives Martinez and Hanson and I went to an illegal bar to question witnesses." He lowered his hand and looked at Abe. "I'm feeling tired. I think that I'll turn in for the night." He gave the scones a confused second look before walking away.

Abe watched his father as he disappeared into the hallway. Dad was acting too, well, weird, even for him. Abe had thought that his father's recent changes in behavior were just a cover. After seeing the forensic pathology books and Dad's reaction to the scones, Abe wasn't so sure about Adam's involvement in everything. Whatever was causing Dad's actions tonight could explain everything that Abe had seen since last Wednesday.

Abe reached into his pocket and started to pull out his cell phone. Since Dad had returned to work, Jo might had seen things that would confirm Abe's theory. He dropped the phone. The detective in Jo would want to see more evidence. And Abe didn't have that.

He looked at his entrée. In a way, he wasn't hungry either. His growling stomach, however, demanded food. He reluctantly took his plate to the table and sat down to eat.

As he started to pick up his first bite, he stole a glance at the scones. He wondered what else would convince both Jo and him that there was something physically wrong with Dad. Abe hoped that he would uncover more evidence soon. His father might need it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note** : This chapter is Henry-lite, but I promise that I'll make it up to you in the next chapter.

There are mild references to "Pilot", "Look Before You Leap", "Memories of Murder", and "Dead Men Tell Long Tales". (By the way, are these episodic reference notes helpful or distracting? Please let me know either way!)

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

Mike knelt on the edge of the empty dock. His brother Anthony held his head with one hand and his shoulder with the other. Mike took one nervous glance at the rushing East River just inches away from him. He knew what was coming.

"Why do you keep insisting on ruining my life?" Anthony's iron grip on Mike grew tighter. Mike wanted to snatch his brother's hands off of him to stop the pain, but he knew that any attempt was useless.

"I apologized for sleeping with your prom date! Jo saw it!"

"That ain't what this is about." Anthony's voice was strangely calm.

"If you're talking about the unpaid parking tickets, I could get fired for fixing them. Besides, we don't allow naked sleepwalking to go unpunished." The second that he said it, Mike hoped that Doc would forgive his betrayal.

"I'm not upset about that." Again, Mike heard an eerily serene tone.

Mike grew agitated. "Then, what is this about?!"

Anger tinged the start of Anthony's voice. "You eating my Halloween candy when we were kids!" At that second, Anthony began to thrust Mike toward the river. Mike braced himself and hoped that he could prevent the swirly.

Just as Mike's hair touched the water, he heard his cell phone ring. His eyes flew open, and he took a few seconds to realize that he was safe in his bedroom with a sleeping Karen by his side.

His phone continued ringing. He sat up and took it off the end table.

"Jo, do you know what time it is?" He chided himself; she had just saved him from knowing how many swirlies that his brother had planned to give him in his dream.

"I think that I might have something." It sounded as though she had her second cup of coffee already. "Could you meet me at the illegal bar?"

"Where are you at?" Mike heard Karen softly groan behind him.

"Home. I'm getting breakfast first."

 _Washington Heights. Good._ That would give him time to at least change and grab a quick bite to eat. The bed shook as his wife rolled over. "I'll meet you there."

He hung up the phone and laid it back on the end table. From behind him, he heard, "Which case?"

"The new one." He turned over and looked at his bottle-blonde, blue-eyed wife. She had propped herself on one arm to listen to him. He remembered telling her a little bit about the case last night. "Jo thinks that she might have a lead."

"Have you asked Henry about it?"

"Not yet. The guy's still recovering from what on earth had put him in the hospital." Mike looked away from her. He hated himself for being unable to tell her about his suspicions about Adam's involvement in the case. Then again, the secrecy about Doc and Adam was to protect Doc from being outed by Karen and her fellow historians.

The start of Karen's voice caused him to look at her. "Henry is so accident-prone. If he doesn't watch it, he'll get himself killed one day."

 _You have no idea._ Mike remembered when he had first said that about Doc. He had no idea that Henry had died _four times_ in the few weeks prior to Mike's comment. Granted, two of those deaths weren't accidents, and one of the non-accidental deaths was in the name of justice. The two accidents and one murder, however, still showed how quickly Doc could find himself in a situation that threatened to expose his secret to the world.

Mike felt Karen's gaze pulling him back into the present. "You looking forward to your classes today?"

She shifted her weight. "Classes, yes. Colleagues, no. A couple of us in the history department had been looking forward to Brent Watkins' lecture. Now, with his disappearance, the geography chair had to cancel it. You know what the worst part is?"

"What?" He knew that it wasn't her sudden inability to fangirl her favorite travelogue host.

"Everyone keeps asking me what my husband's found. They know that you can't say anything about an open investigation, but they still want to know what's going on."

He hated to see her frown. "I'll tell you when we find out something. In the meantime, you can always ask Doc about England." _Or France, or any of the places that he's lived in._ He smiled as he imagined Karen's questions for Doc.

She started to smile. Mike leaned toward her, and she leaned forward to meet him. He puckered his lips.

Suddenly, he heard a thud and their sons bickering in the next room. He hung his head and groaned as he pulled away from Karen. "I'll take care of them." He pulled his covers away, got up, and marched toward his sons' room.

After scolding his sons, Mike returned to the bedroom. Karen was beginning to dress for the day. He followed suit. As he put on his tie, he stole a glance at her. He wished that he knew more about both cases. If he had more information about Watkins' murder, he could help his wife with her colleagues.

As for the death near Doc's place, Mike wondered what Jo's call was about. If the lead that she had was any good, he might offer to do her paperwork for a month. It would be his way of thanking her for interrupting his nightmare.

* * *

Mike arrived at the innocuous-looking florist shop and got out of his car. He peered into the alley. Jo, with her cup of coffee and blue scarf, stood out among the trash bags, dumpsters, and cardboard boxes lining the buildings.

He walked over to her. "Do you mind telling me what this is about?"

She motioned to him with her coffee. "For your information, this is my first cup today."

He raised an eyebrow.

Jo acquiesced. "Remember when I told you that Henry thought that he saw something in the alley last night?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"What if Adam was here to taunt Henry? What if he's trying to frame Henry?"

 _You've been reading my mind._ "That would explain why the unis and CSU didn't find any casings. So, what's the game plan?"

"The best way to figure out what happened is for us to re-enact it."

Mike yawned, reminding him of the time. "Why did you have to call me so early? Couldn't it wait?"

Jo gave him a murderous glare. He immediately knew that she didn't want Doc to catch them.

Mike briefly glanced at her neck. "Are we going to use your scarf?"

To his surprise, she reached into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out a rolled piece of fabric. "I brought one."

Mike stared at it and then looked at her. "Let's do this." He took the garment out of her hand. "Since I'm closer to Doc's height, I should play him."

Jo nodded. He rose an eyebrow. It wasn't like her to not argue over the direction of anything.

Mike unrolled the scarf and studied it. "How does he do it?"

"What?"

"The style that he can do quickly without looking?" Jo wrinkled her eyebrows. "The one that looks like a stupid ascot?"

She chuckled. "If you tell him that, he might make you his murder victim instead of Lucas during their next re-enactment."

 _Good point._

"It's called the European style. Let me show you." She set her coffee on the edge of an open dumpster and took off her scarf. She folded it in half and wrapped the doubled garment around her neck. She then opened the loop and pulled the ends through. She smoothed the scarf and inserted the ends under her coat.

Mike repeated her motions. He suppressed a smile as he realized how easy it was to put on that way.

He then looked up. Jo was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, he felt a couple of hands come over his shoulders and tighten over the scarf. His heart raced as he thought that someone was strangling him. He reached up, grabbed the hands, and pulled them off of him. He raised his right arm over his head. That spun him around—and he found himself face-to-face with Jo.

He sighed with relief. "Maybe we can rule out that method." He released her from his grip.

"I agree." Jo looked away for a second to think. "Lie down and pretend that you're unconscious."

Mike stared at her. "Why?"

"Humor me."

Mike groaned as he retied the scarf. The things that he did for justice. He, however, obediently laid down on the cold, hard ground. As he arranged his arms, he hoped that the passing people wouldn't peek into the alley and call his and Jo's colleagues. The guys at the precinct would _never_ let them live it down.

Jo stepped beside him and knelt down. She tugged on the scarf. He struggled to lie still, but he resisted the temptation to grab her hands. She slipped the ends out from under his coat. Then, she pulled the ends out through the loop and slipped the scarf out from under Mike's neck.

She wrinkled her brows and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Adam wouldn't have enough time…"

Mike heard the unspoken conclusion. Doc would had died and vanished before Adam had finished pulling off his scarf. Of course, Doc would had tried to stop Adam before dying if he still had some strength left in him. "Can I sit up now?"

"Yes. I want to try a few more styles, though." Jo straightened up while Mike sat up and then rose from his spot.

She gave him the scarf before walking over to the dumpster to get her cup of coffee. As he watched her take a sip of the energizing liquid, Mike unfolded the fabric and hung it around his neck. He glanced over at his official partner. She smiled at him. This was another one of Henry's styles.

The two repeated the experiment. Jo broke her word about not reaching for his neck, but she deftly jerked the scarf off before he realized it. When Mike laid down, she easily slipped it out from under his neck.

The third time, Jo had Mike wrap the scarf around his neck twice. To his relief, she had him lay down on the ground shortly after he donned the garment.

Jo knelt down beside him and started to undo the scarf. Suddenly, she froze and looked in the direction of the street. She then looked at Mike. When she met his eyes, she mouthed, "Henry!"

Mike took a deep breath as he heard footsteps coming toward him. He craned his neck and raised one eyebrow. Doc wore a black cardigan and white dress shirt under his black winter coat. If Mike didn't know any better, he would had thought that Doc was having a mid-life crisis—or whatever immortals had that resembled it.

Gratefully, Doc passed without noticing anything unusual in the alley. Mike straightened his neck and studied Jo. She bit her lower lip and looked toward the ground. He sighed; she was trying to control her emotions. He knew that the offer to do her paperwork would have to wait.

"Jo?"

"Hmm..." She startled. Finally, she noticed him. "Oh." She then placed her hands around the scarf to unwrap it.

Mike raised an arm toward her. "We don't have to do this. We already know that Adam couldn't have removed Doc's scarf fast enough."

Jo nodded. "Good point."

Jo rose and stepped away from Mike so that he could get up. "So, Henry would have noticed some unusual sight, sound, or smell coming from the alley. He came here and saw the victim being shot. He removed his scarf to treat the victim..." Mike heard the unspoken comment about Doc's death last week as he stood and removed Jo's scarf from his neck.

"Or he hung the scarf around his neck last Monday. When he came here, Adam could have grabbed it before shooting him."

"Or…"

Mike studied her for a second. It appeared as though she wanted to believe that Henry was innocent, but she was bothered by something. Mike suddenly realized that the two other cases, both with possible connections to Doc, weighed on her mind as well.

"Jo, come on now. We both know that Doc wouldn't kill anyone." Mike glanced toward the antiques shop that Doc and his son called home and looked back to her. "At least not on purpose."

Jo nodded. It appeared that she still couldn't let go of her thoughts.

Mike's hands threatened to let go of the scarf. He rolled it up and handed it back to her. She took it with her free hand and placed it back in her pocket.

"You know you can always talk to me, right?"

Jo bit her lower lip and briefly looked at the ground. "Yeah, thanks." She slightly smiled. "Even if you're still bad at it after all these years."

Mike knew that Jo needed a break and some peace of mind before they went into work. "Come on, let's see if we can find another connection between these cases…after we get you a second cup of coffee."

* * *

Jo sighed as she continued to listen to the canned music. It was the third time that the Benatar Holdings' human resources department had transferred her call. Were they all discussing the newest show on Netflix, or were the receptionists really busy? Jo wished that she could see the situation on the other end of the phone. If they were socializing instead of cooperating with the police, she would give them an earful.

She took another sip of the now-cold coffee that Abe had given her, but she didn't care about the drink's temperature. She was glad that Mike had suggested visiting Abe before work so that they could tell him that they were working the shooting off Rivington. As Abe gave Jo the coffee, the younger Morgan expressed his concerns that Adam might had selected an innocent person to serve as either bait or collateral damage in his and Henry's ongoing conflict. Before Mike asked about Henry's pocket watch, Jo had begun to usher him out of the antiques shop so that they wouldn't be late to work.

"Hello?" A perky, feminine voice snapped Jo's attention back to the receiver.

"Yes! This is Detective Jo Martinez with NYPD homicide. We're investigating a death, and we need to confirm some information about one of your employees."

"May I have the name?"

 _Finally!_ Jo's heart began to race with excitement. "Tim Ledford."

"I'll check. Just please give me a moment." Jo heard the clacking of keys on the other end. A minute later, the perky woman returned to the phone. "We have a Timothy Ledford here. He works in accounting."

 _So far, so good._ "Do you know who his supervisor is?"

The woman was quiet for a moment. "Stanley Esmond."

Jo nodded. She had seen him once before.

"Is there anything else?"

"Do you have a Dean Brewster working there too?"

Jo spent a couple of moments listening to the receptionist's rapid typing. "No, ma'am. We do not."

"Well, thank you. And thank you so much for your time." She hung up the phone.

"So," Mike's voice caused her to turn her head. "What did they say?"

"Ledford was telling the truth about working for Benatar Holdings." She stifled a chuckle. "His boss is Stanley Esmond, and he looks _nothing_ like Henry."

"What do you mean? Mike swiveled his chair around and leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees.

"Esmond's short, balding, and is more of your build than Henry's." Mike threatened to raise an eyebrow. "Henry and I walked past him after we met Isaac. While we were leaving the Explorer's Club, we saw Esmond introducing himself to a couple of people." She smiled as she remembered Henry's complaints about being underdressed for their interview with Isaac—and her image of Henry in a tux after she had learned that he had been a member of the group since the very early 1900s. "You?"

Mike leaned back. "Still waiting on information about Brewster and Gene Tomberlin. And wondering when the unis will tell us what they had found out about Doc."

Jo's smile faded. _Nuts! I forgot about that!_ Lt. Reece had told Jo last Wednesday that Officer Hannigan had promised her that he would keep them up-to-date on their investigation. "Have you asked Lieu about it?"

Mike nodded. "Surprisingly, she doesn't know anything. She thinks they're so swamped downstairs that Doc's appearance near the East River is on the back burner."

Jo sighed and bit her lower lip. She wished that they would let the team know _something_. She, Mike, and Lieu didn't know what to tell Abe and Henry about that day.

She needed some way to distract herself. She remembered her and Henry's conversation during their trip to WNYL's studios. She picked up the phone and dialed the number to NYPD human resources. After following the menu's instructions, she waited for a receptionist to pick up.

She didn't wait long. "Hello? This is Jo Martinez from the 11th Precinct's homicide division. Does an Officer de los Rios work here?"

"Let me check." The operator typed for a few seconds. "Yes, we have an Adam de los Rios working in records."

At the name "Adam", a cold chill ran down Jo's spine and radiated throughout her body. She swallowed to keep her emotions in check. "Thank you."

"Do you want me to transfer you?"

"Please."

As more canned music started, Jo couldn't shake the sense of dread that was coming over her. "Adam of the rivers". The name sounded like an immortal psychopathic stalker's taunt…or a warning. She wondered how—or why—NYPD even hired him.

Then again, she could be imagining things. After all, Adam was a very common first name, and an earlier Internet search had revealed that "de los Rios" was a real last name.

"Hello?" The masculine voice stopped Jo's thoughts.

"Yes. I was wondering if I may speak with Officer Adam de los Rios. It's about a homicide investigation that we are conducting." She closed her eyes and hoped that she didn't just tip Adam off.

"I'm sorry. Rio went on vacation last Thursday."

Her jaw dropped. After a second, she recovered her ability to speak. "When will he be back?"

"Next Friday."

Jo suppressed her groan. "Thank you."

She hung up and looked out toward the bullpen's entrance. Mike's and her reenactment suggested that there was a very real possibility that Adam wasn't involved in Henry's latest arrest. The experiment also confirmed Jo's suspicions that Henry was somehow involved in the shooting.

She sighed as she remembered the previous night and the events from earlier in the morning. Two of the mysterious deaths were murders, and Henry believed that his hospitalization was connected to one of them. In a way, she hoped that it was linked to the apartment fire. She saw only one flaw in that line of thought; Henry had no logical reason to visit the complex.

She, however, did need to ask Adam, or whoever Officer de los Rios was, about the fire. He might had seen Henry or Brent Watkins in the vicinity hours before it started. Unfortunately, she would have to wait for Officer de los Rios' statement.

The timing of his vacation raised a few questions. It, however, could be just a coincidence. NYPD was notorious for needing advanced notice for any time off; Jo had to fight to use her vacation time so that she could claim Sean's body and bury him.

"Pardon me." A British accent drew Jo out of her thoughts. For a second, she thought that Henry was standing at her desk. She suddenly realized that the voice was a _feminine_ one. Jo looked up. A black-haired, brown-eyed lady who was dressed like Princess Diana stood before her. The regal-looking woman clutched a white purse.

Jo rose from her desk. "Yes?"

"I'm dreadfully sorry. An officer had directed me to this department." She sighed as she reached into her purse, opened it, and pulled out a photograph. "I'm looking for my husband, William Ashbrooke. I've been attempting to ring him up since Monday last, but I've been unable to contact him." She extended the picture to Jo.

Jo took the photograph. Mrs. Ashbrooke, dressed in a blue casual blouse and skinny jeans, stood in front of a window; London's skyline was in the background. A man stood to Mrs. Ashbrooke's right. Jo inhaled the second that she saw the causally-dressed man's face. She handed the photograph back to the woman.

Jo sighed. "I think that there's someone who you need to see." 

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't know why, but I always have seen Karen as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed person. So, I went with it.

Also, to my British readers, if I have made an error in the usage of British English, I apologize for it. It is not my native dialect, so I tried to research British English so that I could attempt to get it right.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note** : There are mild references to the pilot, "6 AM", "The Man in the Killer Suit", and "The King of Columbus Circle".

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

Henry stepped out of the elevator and walked toward his office. The silence of the corridor greeted him this morning instead of yesterday's light chatter, squeaky shoes, and rolling gurneys. Then again, fifteen minutes' difference evidently mattered.

Henry sighed as he crossed his office's threshold and entered the room. His early arrival was necessary. When he had left the shop, he had told Abe that he wanted to get a head start on the day's autopsies. In reality, he decided to take a long walk to work so that he could clear his head. He went to the subway station and used its map to find the way to his destinations. He then walked through East River Park to see if something there would spark a memory. After his futile attempt, he had decided to enjoy the view of the river before going to work.

He quickly changed coats, sat down at his desk, and looked toward the morgue. The clock's ticks marked the seconds until his imminent arrest. Deep inside, he knew that he wasn't a murderer. Still, the gaps in his memory suggested otherwise. If only there was a way to prove his innocence to himself and to Detective Martinez…

He bit his lower lip in thought. Then, he reached over and pulled the stack of folders to him. He opened each one, read the front page of the report, and then placed the closed folder to the side.

About halfway through the stack, he found what he was looking for, the record of the man whom he had found last Saturday. According to the report, the man was Gene Tomberlin, a 39-year-old man who used prescription pain killers. Henry noted Tomberlin's—Gene's—core temperature at the time that Wahl had taken it. Henry wrinkled his eyebrows. The measurement was too high for that specific time of death.

Henry closed his eyes and remembered how he had found Gene. Henry noted every detail of the man and of the room. He paid careful attention to the room's layout and temperature. He seemed to recall that the room felt warm. He wasn't sure, though. He had noticed the room's temperature just as he had found evidence of Gene's struggle with an unknown assailant.

His eyes flew open. The man's clothes, medication, and pre-mortem exertion would increase Gene's body temperature. That would explain the discrepancy between the time of death and the post-mortem changes that Henry had observed. Somehow, Wahl had miscalculated Gene's time of death.

Henry found a notepad and a pen and began to write. He surprised himself with the ease of his calculations. He assumed that it was a part of his training.

When he was finished, he looked at the new estimated time of death. His jaw dropped when he saw it. If he was right, Gene died at 11:30 last Wednesday morning. Henry suddenly remembered his and Abe's conversation at breakfast this morning. Henry had wanted to know exactly when he was found. Abe told him that Lt. Reece had called the shop about 11:05 AM last Wednesday and that she had learned that he was found only a few minutes before.

Relief began to overwhelm Henry as he stared at the victim's estimated time of death. Henry had found a way to prove his innocence in at least one murder. He wondered if he should mention the error to Wahl. He started to think of what to say to the young man when, suddenly, a hazy image flashed in Henry's mind. He and another man leaned over a desk. Two women stood nearby and watched them.

He wanted to bring the hazy image into focus to see if it was a memory. A loud knock, however, caused the image to vanish. Expecting Wahl, Henry quickly closed the folder and placed it and the notepad aside.

He looked up and was surprised to see Detective Martinez. A black-haired, brown-eyed woman clothed in a light blue dress coat and skirt stood to the detective's right. Her clothes and posture suggested an upper-middle-class background, but a callous on her left index finger hinted at a recent attempt at carpentry.

The woman shifted her weight. Apparently, he had been staring at her. To remedy the situation, he rose and extended his hand. "Dr. Henry Morgan."

She reached out and enclosed her hand around his. "Margaret Ashbrooke."

He looked over at Detective Martinez, who was stepping to the side of his desk, and realized why they were there. He swallowed as he released Margaret's hand and gestured toward the chair. He wasn't expecting to meet a widow. Whose body was she there to claim?

Margaret appeared to have sensed his thoughts. As she sat down, she reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph. "As I had mentioned to Detective Martinez, I've been attempting to ring up my husband, William, since the twenty-second of March, but I've been unable to reach him. I came to New York to see what has become of him."

She reached across the desk and gave him the picture. He studied it for a minute. A casually-dressed couple stood in front of a window; the woman was clearly Margaret. He wished that he could identify the city that was behind them; he knew that it wasn't New York.

Henry's eyes then drifted to the man's face. A cold chill ran down Henry's spine, and he felt as though he wanted to breathe faster. The widow of the man whom he had killed sat before him. Henry quickly reprimanded himself as he returned the photograph to her. He could prove his innocence in one death. Maybe he was innocent in this one also.

To distract himself, Henry looked through his files. "What was your husband doing here in New York?"

"William and I own a women's apparel label in London. We manufacture the clothes in Spitalfields and have stores there and in Charing Cross. Recently, we had desired to expand our operations into the American market. William had come here and search for a flat and a space for our production facilities. I was to join him as soon as his search was complete."

Henry opened another folder. _Charing Cross and Spitalfields. Why do they sound familiar?_

"You're originally from Chelsea?" The words immediately escaped. _How did I know that?_ He looked at Margaret and hoped that she didn't detect his uncertainty.

Margaret looked at him, a slight smile on her face. "Yes. Are you a Londoner yourself?"

 _What makes her think that I'm from London?_ Margaret's assumption and the surprising similarities between their accents pointed to the possibility of his upbringing there. He tried to remember his life in the city, but he couldn't.

He had to tell her something. "I hadn't been back since my father's death." He willed himself not to look at Detective Martinez for confirmation. If he were wrong, then he had no idea what would happen next.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Margaret paused. "Which area are you from?"

Before Henry could think of a plausible story, he heard Detective Martinez clear her throat. He wanted to sigh with relief since she had saved him from a potentially embarrassing situation, but he again forced himself not to act as he desired.

He opened another folder and resisted the temptation to express any emotion. He gently pulled the photograph that Dr. Washington's assistant had taken from under the paperclip and placed the document on his desk. "I regret to inform you of your husband's passing."

Margaret took one look at it. Her hand flew to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes before spilling over onto her cheeks. Henry watched her shake as he took the photograph off of his desk and placed it back in the folder.

When she finally took a minute to catch her breath, she looked at him. "What happened?"

"He was shot last Monday morning." He decided to spare her the details of his involvement in the case. "Of the moment, we don't know who his killer is." He returned the stack of folders to their place on the desk.

Henry heard the start of Detective Martinez's voice beside him. "Margaret, did William have any enemies?" Adrenaline rushed through Henry as he anticipated Margaret's response.

She looked down, almost as if she wanted to steady her emotions. "Andrew Georges. He was William's chief business rival in Charing Cross. A few years ago, Andrew had called the authorities and informed them that we were engaged in forced labor. An inspection of the facilities proved otherwise."

She used the past tense. "Was?"

"Andrew died last year in a traffic accident. He had been engaged in drink driving. His car crossed over into the outside lane on the other side of the road, and he hit another vehicle. According to the authorities, he was killed instantly."

Henry nodded and felt himself relaxing. He finally looked over at Detective Martinez. She stared at a place beyond Margaret, almost as if the detective was processing the information.

Detective Martinez directed her attention back to Margaret. "Did he have any plans to visit the Lower East Side while he was here?"

Henry turned back to Margaret, in part to maintain his own emotions. The new widow shook her head. "No." She then thought for a second. "During our conversation before he disappeared, he stated that Kenneth Lanham had suggested that they meet at Clancey's and sample the restaurant's breakfast food. I believe that it is near Houston Street and Avenue B. William said that he would have to take the underground to get there from his hotel in Lower Manhattan."

Detective Martinez's voice caused him to turn to her again. "Who's Kenneth Lanham?"

"The real estate agent who is assisting us with our search for the space for our facilities. William had fancied a warehouse near the corner of West 41st Street and Seventh Avenue. He had hoped to speak with Mr. Lanham about the purchase of the place whilst they were eating breakfast."

Detective Martinez nodded. It seemed as though she didn't have any more questions for Margaret at the moment.

Henry looked back at Margaret. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Tears began to form in her eyes. She inhaled to stop them. "Thank you."

Detective Martinez walked around Henry's desk and toward the grieving widow. "I'll get a taxi for you." Margaret rose from her chair, and the two women began to exit the autopsy room. Detective Martinez laid her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Trust me, it's hard losing a husband. You have to deal with it eventually, but now isn't the time. When the time comes, you don't have to go through it alone." She wrapped an arm around Margaret, who allowed herself to accept the detective's gesture.

As the two women stopped at the elevator and chatted as they waited for the car, Henry began to contemplate Detective Martinez's words. Maybe the advice about not going through a tragedy alone could apply to him as well. He hadn't lost anyone recently, but he could feel the emotional toll that his hospitalization had on him. He wished that he could tell Abe, Detective Martinez, and his colleagues about what he was experiencing.

The memories of his psychiatric evaluation while he was in Bellevue and his promise to himself that he would seek out a psychiatrist's assistance if his amnesia didn't resolve itself flashed in his mind. He sighed. He would have to wait another week before he could even begin to talk to anyone about his memory issues. Maybe the psychiatrist could give him some ideas of how to share the information with the people he was starting to care about.

A few minutes later, Detective Martinez strode into Henry's office. "At the rate Dr. Washington is going with his autopsies, you'll wind up doing all of his work. Do you care to join me in visiting Lanham's office before you get swamped with bodies?"

He studied her for a minute. It would give him a chance to gather more information to prove his innocence in the murder of William Ashbrooke. It also was an opportunity to spend some more time with Detective Martinez.

"Let me get my coat." He rose from his seat and proceeded to exchange coats. "Did Margaret mention where Kenneth's office is?"

"NYC Business Realtors near Seventh Avenue and West 47th Street." She stepped aside to allow him to pass by her. "And, yes, you have her permission to autopsy William's body." He looked at her in confusion. "I asked."

The pair walked out in silence. Henry found his thoughts drifting back to Detective Martinez's conversation with Margaret. He was surprised to learn that the detective had been married once before. Her loss easily explained how the two women could bond so fast. He longed to remember if Detective Martinez had told him about her husband's death and how Henry had comforted her in her time of need.

"Hey, guys!" Wahl's voice jerked Henry out of his thoughts. Wahl wore his tan coat, his Metro card, and his messenger bag. He had just arrived at work. "Got a lead on the case? Which one?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Detective Martinez turn to Wahl. "Yeah. William Ashbrooke's murder."

Wahl gave the pair a blank stare. "Who?"

Henry placed his hands in his pocket. "The John Doe who was brought to our table yesterday."

"Oh. Have fun. I'll be here minding the morgue while you two go gallivanting through New York." Sarcasm dripped in Wahl's voice. He then grew thoughtful. "Seriously, how can I help?"

Henry smiled; he appreciated Detective Martinez's quick thinking. "You can begin to prepare William's body for autopsy." He nodded his head toward Detective Martinez. "She secured permission from William's widow Margaret while she was here earlier. I had already removed a couple of white fibers from his body, and Dr. Washington's assistant had taken a photograph of it. From what I could tell from the report, it was all the assistant was allowed to do."

Wahl rolled his eyes. "When will human resources fire the guy? Tori told me yesterday that he caused another one of us to quit." Wahl inhaled. "Yeah, I'll get started as soon immediately."

Henry felt Detective Martinez's hands around his bent elbow. "We have to get going." She nudged him toward the door. His body immediately complied with her tactile order. As he resumed his walk, he hoped that their interview would provide them with the information that they would need to prove his innocence.

The drive to the warehouse was quiet. Every time that Detective Martinez tried to speak, she stopped herself. A worried expression crossed her face with each instance. Henry could tell that she was concerned about something.

It seemed unfair that fate had drastically altered the detective's youth, that death had taken her husband, and that Henry's memory issues had stolen her friend. He longed for the ability to take the pain that she felt away from her. He instinctively reached his hand out to place it over her free hand that rested on the seat between them. When he realized what was happening, he withdrew his hand and returned it to his lap; the caring gesture might come across as too forward.

After they arrived at the parking lot near the corner of Seventh Avenue and West 44th Street, they got out of the car. Henry walked around and joined Detective Martinez. He wanted some way to break the silence. He looked around and studied the people in the distance. Some pushed carts and carriers while others carried briefcases. As he watched the people, he felt something break free in his mind.

"Most people blame the decline of life in garment districts, such as Spitalfields and Manhattan's, on mechanization and the importation of cheap fabrics. People's desire to be in style, however, necessitated the changes as the supply of clothes was frequently inadequate to meet the rising demand. For instance, in the United Kingdom before 1750, guilds produced clothes made from the more expensive silk and satin. Only men of means could afford large wardrobes for themselves and their families.

"Beginning in 1750, fashion trends set by Marie Antoinette, the upper classes' gravitation toward outdoor pursuits, changes in children's clothing, and the rise of the fashion-conscious dandy led to an increase in the demand for clothes. Garment makers who wanted to work with silk found a less expensive source from French silk weavers. Other makers began to use inexpensive, durable, washable fabrics such as wool, linen, muslin, and calico for their clothes.

"As a result, Irish and Huguenot silk weavers in Spitalfields saw their wages decrease as garment makers began purchasing the more inexpensive cloths. Price controls helped to stabilize silk weavers' wages, but the demand for inexpensive clothes drove the industry out of the area. The silk weavers who stayed eventually became impoverished, and, by the late 1800s, Spitalfields had become known as a slum area." _How do I know that?_

Hoping that he didn't bore her with his comments, he looked over at Detective Martinez. She stared at him. "Dandy could be used to describe you."

He wasn't sure if he should be offended by her remark. Her smile, however, indicated that her comment was tongue-in-cheek. He momentarily lowered his head and then returned the smile. "Fair point. Given my occupation, however, fashion consciousness prevents me from ruining my clothes."

"Says the guy who can perform emergency surgery in a suit and manage to keep it clean."

He changed his tone of voice to match hers. "I'm certain that I'm not the only one who desires to be fashionable."

Detective Martinez's jaw dropped. "If you're referring to my shoes…." She paused. "May I remind you I'm armed?"

He knew that he should had been frightened by her last comment. Her playful tone of voice, however, caused his smile to return and to widen. He realized that he enjoyed seeing her in a more lighthearted, if not impish, moment.

As much as he delighted in their banter, he knew that they needed to stop to focus on the task at hand. He extended his hand and gestured toward the street. "Shall we?"

She walked ahead of him. He started to follow her when a passing truck caught his eye. It stopped a few yards down the street, and the driver jumped out of the cab. He walked around and opened the back. A couple of moments later, the man rolled a cart stacked with boxes down the ramp and toward the building's back door.

Henry felt drawn to the Paul Stuart label on the boxes. He imagined the cardboard containers' contents of suits and casual clothes. He wanted to walk over to the delivery person and ask him about the store. Maybe he could find something that he would like to wear when he visited the retailer.

"Henry?" Detective Martinez's voice startled him. He turned to face her. She had a smile on her face.

His cheeks flushed. He had just proven her right. "I'm sorry. I…"

"Planning your next shopping trip?" She smiled as she passed him.

Grinning, he quickly joined her side. He studied her features. Her focused gaze and fading smile, however, stopped him from wanting to see more of her playfulness. She appeared to be contemplating the case. Perhaps it was for the best. They had a murder to solve, and they couldn't afford his distraction, no matter how pleasant it was.

They continued their walk in silence. After a moment, Detective Martinez spoke. "How did you know that Margaret was from Chelsea?"

"There were some slight differences in her accent." His answer surprised him. He looked at the detective; she waited for more information. He mentally reviewed their conversation with Margaret and noted her speech pattern. "The English spoken in Chelsea is more clipped and utilizes more glottal stops at the end of sentences. Furthermore, the pronunciation is more drawled as compared to other variants of British English." As he spoke, he felt as though his knowledge on the topic was incomplete.

He looked over at her. She stared at him. He couldn't tell whether she was bored or whether she somehow agreed with his assessment.

"I figured. Only _you_ can pick up on something like that." She smiled at him before turning her attention to the busy intersection.

Remembering his close call from last Saturday, he followed her lead. If there was one thing that he didn't want to happen, it would be his death in front of her. William Ashbrooke's murder was traumatic for him; he could only imagine the grief that seeing his death would cause her.

Fortunately, the traffic lights held the cars back until the pair safely crossed West 47th Street. Henry scanned each building for the real estate office's sign. A second later, Detective Martinez stopped. She opened the nondescript high-rise's door. He reached out as it swung toward him, caught it, and held it open for her.

She looked slightly disgruntled as she stopped. "I could have gotten it myself." She stepped over the threshold anyway.

He let the door close behind them. "I thought that a chivalrous act would be pleasant, especially for a beautiful woman such as yourself."

Her sudden smile indicated her thanks. He returned the smile with one of his own.

Together, they found the directory and followed the signs to NYC Business Realtors' office on the eighth floor. Henry quickly opened the door and allowed her through the entrance. Once he entered the room, he looked around and observed the few people that cubicles didn't hide. The agents were either on the phone or busy at their computers.

Detective Martinez pulled her badge out of her pocket and showed it to the receptionist at the front desk. "We're here to see Kenneth Lanham." The self-confident woman directed them to a cubicle in the back right corner of the office.

The pair wove their way through the desks. As they neared the cubicle in question, Henry heard a pair of masculine voices coming from it. Henry could hear the words "price" and "warehouse". He wondered if they were discussing the warehouse that William was interested in. Then again, it could be just a coincidence; he and Detective Martinez passed one on their walk here.

A few steps later, Henry saw two men on opposite sides of a desk. The one closest to him made Henry think of a soldier in a dark grey business suit. On the other side of the desk, an impeccably dressed man in an expensive-looking suit noticed them.

Detective Martinez immediately removed her badge from her pocket again. "Kenneth Lanham?"

Kenneth rose from his seat, and the other man followed suit. "Oscar, we'll talk again later." Oscar turned around after shaking the realtor's hand. He gave Henry an askew glance as he left the cubicle.

Kenneth gestured to the chairs in front of his desk as he returned to his seat. "What can I do for you?"

The two sat down. "I'm Detective Martinez from 11th Precinct homicide, and this is Dr. Morgan. We're here because one of your clients has died."

"Which one?"

Henry felt the urge to speak. "William Ashbrooke. He was interested in a warehouse near West 41st Street and Seventh Avenue."

Kenneth's reaction was emotionless. "What happened?"

Detective Martinez spoke next. "He was shot last Monday morning."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I don't understand why you are here."

Henry glimpsed at Kenneth's desk. As he read the realtor's open appointment book, he heard Detective Martinez. "You were scheduled to meet with him at Clancey's that morning. Am I right?"

Henry looked up. Kenneth seemed puzzled by the remark. "Yes, but he never showed. How…?"

Henry remembered his walk from earlier in the morning. It was a couple of miles from Delancey to East 23rd Street. "Houston Street and Avenue B is quite the distance from here. Why did you select that particular restaurant?"

Kenneth straightened his posture as he grew slightly agitated. "Everyone keeps mentioning how wonderful the breakfasts are there. I thought that I would treat an out-of-town client to one of their meals."

Henry glanced over at Detective Martinez. She looked around the cubicle. "This isn't my idea of a corner office. I pictured something more luxurious, like an actual office."

Kenneth leaned back in his chair. "Well, we're looking for a larger space ourselves. We've grown in operations over the past couple of years, and, as you can see, we're cramped in here."

Henry studied the man. Kenneth picked up an ink pen and twirled it around with his fingers. Henry wasn't sure if the man was agitated by the line of questioning or if he was nervous because of the police presence. Henry wished that he knew more about human nature to make an accurate observation.

The detective spoke again. "How many buyers have expressed an interest in the warehouse?"

"It's been on the market for a few years now. Mr. Ashbrooke has been the only one who seems interested in buying it."

Detective Martinez grew silent and looked down toward the floor. Once she finished her thoughts, she then rose from her chair. The two men followed her lead as she extended her hand to Kenneth.

"We'll be in touch." She then turned and walked toward the door. Henry followed her, and they wove their way through the building.

Once they exited the building, Henry turned to Detective Martinez. "Kenneth knows more than he's letting on."

"What do you mean?" She looked at him. "I agree, but what's tipping you off this time?"

"First, the man has an impeccable taste in suits. How can he afford expensive suits on a realtor's salary?"

"Maybe he's saved up over the years." A sense of familiarity washed over Henry, almost as if their conversation had happened once before. Detective Martinez's gaze drew his attention back to her. "What else?"

"I overheard Kenneth and Oscar Cushing discussing the price of a warehouse when we arrived. It seems as though Oscar is interested in it as well."

Detective Martinez wrinkled her eyebrows. Henry continued. "Kenneth's appointment book was opened to March 22, and he was scheduled to meet Oscar at the warehouse later that day."

She rolled her eyes and slightly opened her mouth in frustration. He recognized that it was the same look that she had given him when he had told her that he had broken into Gene Tomberlin's apartment. He needed to give her something to work with. "I think that you might need to investigate Oscar as well."

Detective Martinez gave him a perplexed look. "Why?"

"I believe that he might have recognized me." They stopped at the intersection and waited for the traffic light.

Detective Martinez's eyes widened, and her mouth opened fully. She looked both ways before closing her mouth. "In that case, we might have a second witness."

"What do you mean?"

"We have one, Tim Ledford, but we can't use his testimony. When we questioned him last night, he was drunk and had mistaken you for his boss."

"That explains why he had run from us." He paused as his thoughts immediately turned to his rejection of her request to accompany him back to the shop. He should had accepted the offer, but he had thought that the short walk would clear his head of the day's events. "About last night…"

"Don't apologize. You're going through a lot right now. When you're ready, I'm here if you want someone to talk to."

She began to lay her hand on his shoulder. He felt his shoulder starting to pull away from her, but he willed himself not to move it. To his surprise, his body obeyed his order. As her hand finished closing itself around his shoulder, a sense of comfort and relief flooded him. He stared at her, and he lost all power of speech. When he recovered it, all he could say was, "Thank you."

They continued their walk with her hand on his shoulder. He marveled at the power that she held over him. With every interaction between them, she always found a way to make him want to do anything for her. He wondered if he was starting to feel as though they could become more than close friends.

He, however, should know more about her for that to happen, and he needed to remedy that. So far, he hadn't given her much of a chance to speak about herself. "Why do you believe that Kenneth might be involved in William's death?"

"Aside from the expensive suit and the cheap corner office?" Henry nodded. "Realtors usually don't take their clients out to breakfast. I haven't told anyone this before, but when Sean and I were house-hunting…"

Sean. The name sounded vaguely familiar. Henry wondered if he met the man before.

Detective Martinez's voice continued. Henry wanted to listen to every word that she said. He smiled as they walked back to the car. Maybe this was the start of something that he hoped would last.

* * *

Henry walked through the antique shop's door and quickly wove his way through the antiques, stopping only to open the door leading to the living area. He hadn't felt this energized since his hospitalization, and he couldn't wait to tell Abe about his day.

Henry jogged up the stairs. The smell of warming chicken parmesan filled the air. He had lost his appetite last night, but he had one now.

He slowed down as he entered the kitchen. "The chicken parmesan smells good."

"Yeah." Abe stood next to the island and wiped his hands on the dishcloth. He laid it down on the counter. "How did your day go?"

"It was excellent." Grinning, Henry entered the living room and hung up his coat. "Detective Martinez and I learned the identity of the John Doe who was shot near here last Monday."

Abe leaned on the island. "So, who is it?"

"His name is William Ashbrooke, a British citizen looking to expand his business into New York. His widow Margaret had come here and identified his body this morning."

"What else happened?"

"Detective Martinez and I went to see the real estate agent who was handling the sale of a warehouse. Afterward, Mr. Wahl and I autopsied the body and proved that William definitely died from a gunshot wound. That was before we received two more bodies from Dr. Washington." He decided against telling Abe about the instances of déjà vu and about his and Detective Martinez's trips to and from the real estate office. The familiar feelings could had been just a figment of his imagination. As for the trips, they were far too personal to tell his roommate about them.

Abe stepped away from the island. "That's great!" He paused and inhaled. "Listen, I want to talk to you about something." He sounded serious.

A cold chill unexpectedly began to flow through Henry. "What?"

"I found three introductory forensic pathology books in your room last night."

"What were you doing in there? You have no business invading my privacy." Henry was surprised by his angry tone.

"That doesn't matter." Abe narrowed his eyes. "Don't think for a minute that I haven't picked up a few things from the resident Sherlock Holmes over the years. Henry, you're an experienced forensic pathologist. With all of the deaths that you've seen over your long life, you don't need the books."

 _What does he mean by "long life"?_ "I don't know what you're talking about." He heard the tension in his voice. Henry turned and walked toward the bedrooms so that he could change for dinner.

Henry could hear Abe's footsteps behind him. "Look, you always talk to Jo and me about what's going on in your head. Okay, almost always. Over the past week, though, you haven't mentioned anything about what happened to you when you disappeared. Now, what's going on here?!"

Henry stepped into the hallway's entrance. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Dad!"

Henry couldn't believe his ears. He stopped, spun around, and looked at Abe. "What did you just call me?"

Abe's eyebrows rose, and his mouth momentarily dropped open. He looked away for a minute before turning back toward Henry. Sadness and shock filled his eyes.

Henry glanced away to maintain his composure. He wished that he knew what was going on. Abe was behaving normally, so his calling Henry "Dad" wasn't age-related. Still, nothing explained why the older man thought that Henry was his father.

Henry looked back at Abe. He still wanted to consider the older man as a member of his family. He should offer Abe some form of an olive branch.

He sighed. "I thought that I needed to look up some information about one of the cases. I brought the books home so that I could have more time to research what had been bothering me. As it turned out, I really didn't need them. I haven't gotten around to taking them back to the office." He hoped that Abe would accept his explanation—even if he didn't address his physical symptoms, his memory issues, or his whereabouts last week.

Abe still looked worried. He nodded, almost as if he was processing it. "Just researching a weird case. Okay." He took a couple of steps back. "I'll get dinner ready." As Abe walked back to the island, he looked as though he didn't fully believe Henry's excuse.

Henry looked at the food before walking toward the bedroom. He suddenly lost his appetite. His stomach growled, and he realized that he needed sustenance.

He quickly walked to his bedroom. He hoped that, by the time that he returned to the dining area, both he and Abe would be calmer. In his case, Henry knew that he would have to ignore their unusual argument for the time being. It might be his only hope for any form of a relationship with Abe.

* * *

Stunned, Abe stood at the island and watched his father disappear into the hallway. Tears began to well, but the young man willed himself to hold them back. His father would be back any minute. To distract himself, Abe began to set the food on the table.

Last night's events and the quick, quiet breakfast this morning had bothered the younger Morgan all day. Dad had always confided in him about anything, but, lately, he was refusing to let Abe in.

Now, he might know why. Abe inhaled as the image of his father's confused face after hearing the familiar name flashed before him. It was almost like Dad had no memory of the moment that Mom had placed him in Dad's arms…or of any event from Abe's life. Abe knew that somehow Dad's reaction was tied to his hospitalization, but he longed to know what had caused them.

Abe began to hear his father's footsteps coming from the hallway. Abe sighed. He now had the evidence that he needed for Jo. He couldn't wait any longer to talk with her; his mind wouldn't allow it.

As Dad entered the room, Abe planned to see her first thing in the morning. He hoped that she had seen the changes in Dad's behavior. If so, maybe, together, they could determine what was wrong with Dad and what they needed to do to correct it.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I know that Abe alternates between "Dad" (in the episode "6 AM") and "Pops". Since I have been using "Dad" to describe Henry from Abe's point of view, I decided that I should let Abe verbally use it here and in the remainder of the story to maintain consistency.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note** : There are mild references to the pilot, "The Man in the Killer Suit", "Skinny Dipper", "The King of Columbus Circle", and "The Night in Question", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 _Nothing_ was going to ruin her day.

Jo took a sip of coffee as she turned around to exit the break room. She smiled as she remembered yesterday's events. She hadn't expected Margaret's arrival to trigger memories of both Sean's death and her fears for Henry last week. She had managed to make it through the interview by focusing on the investigation. On her way back to Henry's office, though, she used the OCME's bathroom to splash some water on her face to calm herself down.

During the trip to Lanham's office, she thought that she could ask Henry about William and Tim Ledford. Each time that she looked at Henry, though, the memories reemerged, and she had to refocus her attention on the road to steady her emotions.

Somehow, Henry picked up on her thoughts. At one point during the drive, she glanced down at the seat between them. Henry briefly reached his hand out to place it over hers. Although he hadn't touched her, she had felt a sense of comfort from his gesture.

Jo stepped aside to allow a couple of patrol officers pass by her. As she overheard their teasing, her thoughts drifted back to yesterday's walk. During Henry's lecture, Jo had been pleasantly surprised to learn that his early contemporaries actually had a word to describe him and his fashion fetish, and she was quite serious when she used it. The second that he changed his tone to match her "just saying" one, she swore that he was flirting with her. She wanted to continue, but their crossing of West 45th Street had reminded her of the task at hand. Of course, that hadn't stop her from enjoying Henry's chivalry in the meantime.

She turned a corner and wove her way through the desks. She had noticed that Henry had seemed to be feeling better. He was lecturing again, and she didn't realize how much she had missed it until he started yesterday. He didn't flinch when she had touched his shoulder. He was even much more energetic than he had been over the past few days. She figured that either he was healing from his illness, for lack of a better word, or a talk with Abe about the case had improved Henry's mood.

In any case, Henry's improved mood had affected the cases as well. He was much more focused on the investigation. Thanks to his keen observation of human nature, they had two new leads in the murder of William Ashbrooke. She hoped that the background checks on Cushing and Lanham and the surveillance videos from the buildings near Henry's place would provide them with additional leads.

They were also making progress on the murder at the apartment complex. Yesterday, Henry had asked whether they had learned anything about Dean Brewster. She mentioned that they had questioned him. Henry had expressed his doubts that Brewster had a violent nature. The background checks on Brewster had come in this morning; his clean record had confirmed Henry's suspicions.

Jo broke away from her thoughts so that she could concentrate on the investigation. She looked at her desk and noticed a man standing in front of it. She quickly closed the gap between them and sat her coffee down next to some of her folders.

"Abe?"

The older man buried his hands in his coat pocket. He looked down for a second before lifting his head to face her. Worry filled his face as he sighed. "It's about D—." He paused. "It's about Henry."

Jo inhaled. "Give me a moment." The older man nodded.

She turned around and hurried to Lt. Reece's office. She threw the door open, entered the room, and closed the door behind her.

Lt. Reece looked up from her work. "Jo, I swear that you're picking up a few of Henry's bad habits."

Jo blushed. "I'm sorry." She walked over to Lieu's desk and rested her hands on it. "Something's happened last night. Abe's here to talk about Henry."

Lieu kept her eyes on Jo, forcing the junior officer to concentrate on what was happening now. Lieu took a deep breath. "Take as much time as you both need. If he has information that pertains to your cases, I want to talk to him myself."

Jo nodded. As she left the office, she heard Lt. Reece tell her to "knock next time". She rushed back to her desk and snatched her coat and hat off the back of her chair. "We're going to my car." She placed her hand on Abe's shoulder and directed him toward the elevator.

* * *

As they rode the elevator downstairs, Jo kept watching Abe. He was quiet, lost in his own thoughts. At first, she thought that maybe, last night, Henry had finally told Abe about his disappearance. Abe, however, seemed more worried than usual. The last time that she had remembered seeing him this way was when the team had found Abigail's remains.

Jo sighed. Abe's quietness could mean only one thing. Yesterday, Adam likely had left a package for Henry at the OCME. He then had called Henry last night and had threatened the team. Jo hoped that Henry wasn't en route to the airport right now.

The elevator stopped, and Jo placed a hand on Abe's shoulder to direct him to her parking space in the garage. When she had arrived this morning, she had found that the parking lot was full. She had been annoyed because she couldn't park in her usual spot, but, now, she was glad for the inconvenience.

She unlocked her car, and they both got in. Jo scanned the garage for any signs of Adam or eavesdroppers. Once she was satisfied that there was no one around them, she turned to Abe. "What happened?"

The older man sighed. "Dad's been acting weird since he woke up. I mean, I thought that he was just quiet, weak, and dizzy from whatever had put him in the hospital. I should have known that there was something else to it."

Jo wrinkled her eyebrows. This was clearly not about Adam, but nothing that Abe had said made sense. "Abe?"

He stopped, looked at her, and took a deep breath. "I didn't tell you this because I didn't want to upset you at the time. When Dad came to, he used the word "lorry" when I asked him how he felt."

"Was it a one-time use?"

Abe shook his head. "He kept using British English until last Saturday. I hadn't heard him use it that much since he and Mom had picked me up from my grandparents' stupid farm in Oxfordshire when I was ten. And, yes, I know that it was for their honeymoon and that they wanted me to spend some time with my only living set of grandparents. But Mom and Dad still could had left me with Lyle Ames and his folks here in the States during that time."

He paused. "Anyway, as far as I can remember, Dad used British English occasionally, and that was only when Mom was confused about an American expression."

"What happened last Saturday?"

"I don't know. But it was like a light switch had turned on in Dad's head, and he began using American English again."

Jo knew that Henry's temporary use of a different dialect wasn't enough to worry Abe. Throughout his life, Abe had heard his father effortlessly switch from language to language following each move to a foreign country. "What else?"

She saw tears begin to build in Abe's eyes. He closed them for a moment. When he opened them, his voice began to waver. "He's not recognizing a lot of things."

"Such as?" Jo inhaled. She didn't like where this was going.

"Two French porcelain vases that he had to leave behind in London in the 1880s. Any of his antiques, for that matter. His classical music albums." Abe paused and inhaled. " _The Flying Dutchman_. Blueberry scones. His pocket watch."

At the last item, Jo began to feel numb. She bit her lip and looked down at the floorboard. She knew that each of the objects that Abe had mentioned either were some of his souvenirs from the past or were some of Henry's favorite things. Jo looked up at Abe and swallowed. "Anything else?"

Abe's tears began to reform. "He's been avoiding me and treating me like I'm a stranger lately. I thought that it was because of Adam, but I was wrong. The other night, I went into his bedroom to return a shirt that I accidentally placed in my closest. I noticed he brought home three forensic pathology books. Well, last night, I confronted him about it. He refused to answer me, so I called him Dad." Tears spilled over his eyelids and down his cheeks. "Jo, you should have seen the look on his face. It was like he didn't know who I was."

The younger Morgan turned his head away from her and began sobbing. At that second, Jo didn't see a nearly 75-year-old man who was worried about his friend and roommate. Instead, she saw a young boy who wanted his father to be okay. Jo reached out and wrapped her hand around his.

After a minute, Abe started to calm down slightly. "I'm not the only one he hasn't recognized. Every time I mention Lucas, Mom, or you, he gives me the same blank stare that he gave me last night."

Jo heard the sounds around her soften. She reflected on the past few days and suddenly realized that Henry hadn't call her "Jo" lately. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She willed herself not to cry in front of Abe. He needed her strength now.

His voice broke through her thoughts. "You too?"

Jo stared at him. Abe had just deduced what had been happening at work. _Like father, like son._

She sighed and nodded. "Ever since he's been back to work, he hadn't been himself. He's been calling Lucas and Mike by their last names. He's been easily distracted, like something's been bothering him.

"He's been nervous since we've been assigned William Ashbrooke's murder. The other night, we went to the illegal bar near Rivington. He asked Mike and me for guidance, and he actually stayed behind when one of our potential witnesses ran from us. When I returned, I found him looking at something in the alley. I offered to walk him home, but he refused."

She bit her lower lip. "When we went to WNYL's studios this past Sunday, we learned that one of the cameramen's wives was a victim of the train crash that brought Henry and me together." She closed her eyes to prevent the building tears from flowing. "He acted like the crash was something that he had read about in the newspaper."

She opened her eyes and looked at Abe. He nodded. "I wish that I knew what was going on. There's no way that we can investigate it."

Jo's attention snapped to his comment. If this was a criminal investigation, she would know what to do. As she wasn't a member of the medical profession… She immediately thought about the doctors' and nurses' visits to her hospital room while she was recovering from the gunshot wound that Hans Kohler had inflicted on her. "Have you pulled his medical records yet?"

Abe stared at her. "You know, I haven't thought of that. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She squeezed his hand as she fought to stay calm.

They sat in silence for a minute. Eventually, Abe shifted his weight. Jo knew that he needed to follow his new lead, so she released his hand. He reached over to open the door.

She suddenly realized that she didn't want him to be left alone. She wished that she could go with him to the hospital. Her work, however, awaited her. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I will." He reached over, took her hand, and squeezed it before climbing out of the car. He turned and gave her a slight smile as he closed the door. Jo could see that he was trying to be optimistic for her sake.

Jo sat in her car and watched Abe as he walked toward the elevator. It was hard to believe, but it seemed as though Henry's memory had been almost completely erased. If so, it would explain every bit of Henry's recent behavior.

She closed her eyes and remembered the past few days. She leaned her head back onto her headrest as she groaned. She had blamed Adam for Henry's actions when she should had seen that they were connected to the ways that Henry had treated her as a total stranger.

She straightened her head at the realization. Other than what she had seen, Henry had been acting normally. The circumstantial evidence pointing toward amnesia was overwhelming. There, however, was no irrefutable proof yet.

She got out of her car and headed to the elevators. She knew that she would have to ask Mike and Lucas whether they had noticed any of Henry's memory lapses. She also hoped that Henry's medical records would reveal a physical cause for Henry's condition.

In the meantime, she still must assume that Henry had his memory intact. He was still a witness in two deaths, and he was potentially linked to a third one. Any information that he could remember would be helpful.

The elevator doors opened the second that she arrived at it. She stepped in and pressed the button for the bullpen's floor. She didn't want to rush Henry. She, however, couldn't wait much longer to question him. She hoped that he would summon the courage to tell her soon. His ability to have a relatively normal life might depend on it.

* * *

Henry gave the slab one last wipe before walking over to the trash can and disposing his gloves. He turned around and looked at Wahl. The young man sat at his desk, and it appeared that he might be shutting down his computer.

Today, it looked as though Detective Martinez's words about Dr. Washington's work becoming Henry's were almost prescient. Henry had planned to conduct the autopsy on Gene Tomberlin, but the chief medical examiner had assigned four more corpses to him. He had hoped that the autopsies would be quick. Unfortunately, they had taken all day to conduct.

Henry changed out of his apron and placed it into the laundry hamper. He didn't need to help Wahl clean the room, but he wanted to give his assistant some additional time to himself. At the rate that they were going, Wahl needed all of the help that he could get when it came to maintaining his health.

A pang of guilt hit Henry as he walked back to his office. In a way, he was taking advantage of Wahl. Henry didn't want to return to the shop and to Abe. His and Abe's stilted conversation last night and this morning had revealed very little about Abe's state of mind. If anything, Abe had remained upset even after Henry had reassured him that he could return the books to the office.

Henry looked over at the shelf that now contained the volumes. He didn't mean for this to happen. He wished that he would had been honest with Abe the second that he had regained consciousness. If he had, maybe they would had figured out a way to cope with Henry's memory issues—like a family should—by now.

"Hey!" Wahl's voice interrupted Henry's stream of thought. Henry blinked and noticed the young man in the threshold. Wahl clapped his hands together. "You know, we hadn't celebrated your return home from the hospital yet. Do you want to go to McSorley's and have a few drinks?"

As Henry began to exchange coats, he thought back to his and Wahl's partnership. They had been working together for some time now apparently, and Wahl knew more about Henry's life than he did his own—and Wahl's. Over the course of the past few days, Henry could see that Wahl wanted to be his friend. As for his character, Wahl seemed like a good man in spite of his eccentricities. It would be nice to make another new friend.

Henry draped his lab coat over his chair. "When do you want to leave?"

Wahl's jaw dropped open, and, with open arms, he began to walk toward Henry.

Henry threw up his hand. "Let me call Abe first." Wahl knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. "He's been worried about me lately."

"Okay, then. I'll be at my desk waiting to par-tay." He turned around and walked back into the autopsy room.

Henry looked down at the phone. He wished that he could remember Abe's phone number. Henry picked up the receiver and placed his hand over the keypad. A few seconds later, he automatically dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up the phone.

"Abe's Antiques."

Henry was surprised and relieved to hear Abe's voice. "Abe, it's me." He paused, not knowing how Abe would take his plans.

"Henry, what is it?"

"Mr. Wahl has invited me to join him for a few drinks. I'm taking him up on his offer, and I wanted to let you know that I won't return until later."

It was Abe's turn to be silent. "Go enjoy yourself. I'll be fine here." Henry wasn't sure, but it sounded as though Abe was relieved.

After he heard the click of Abe's phone, Henry hung up the receiver. He looked over at a pacing Wahl. Henry closed the gap between the two men and placed his hand on Wahl's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go." Before Wahl could hug Henry, Henry steered him to the elevator.

As they walked, Henry thought back to his argument with Abe last night. He realized that he wanted to make things right. To do that, Henry knew that he needed to risk being committed in order to correct his error. Whatever happened next would be entirely up to Abe. Henry swallowed at the thought; he hoped that their relationship would survive it.

* * *

Jo marched through the hallways. Her eyes darted from person to person. Failing to find her target, she moved to the next hallway to see if he was there.

Moments earlier, Lt. Reece had showed Jo a box that Officer Hannigan had dropped off earlier in the day. Jo studied the contents. At first, she didn't know what to believe. She, however, thought about the conclusion that she easily drew, and everything made sense. Anger had risen up in her, prompting her to hastily leave Lt. Reece's office. On her way to the elevator, she had barely heard Mike mention something about surveillance footage.

She made her way through the first floor. This is not the first time that he had withheld evidence in cases. He had done so three times before, and his actions almost destroyed the investigations. Now, Jo was determined not to let it happen again.

As she rounded the corner, she spied her target walking toward the main entrance. She quickened her pace, hoping to corner him before he left the building.

She closed the gap between herself and Henry and Lucas. "Henry?"

Henry stopped and turned to her voice. He clasped his hands behind him as he expectantly looked at her.

"We need to talk— _now_." She shot Lucas a warning look before she turned her attention back to Henry.

At first, Henry looked a bit panicked. Then, he slightly hunched his shoulders and looked down toward the ground. A second later, he wordlessly joined her side.

She kept a steadfast gaze on him. He brushed past her and stepped slightly ahead of her, almost as if he knew that he was a suspect. As they walked the interrogation room, the voice in Jo's head reminded her that he wasn't acting like he had when she had interrogated him when they had first met; he had been calmer but defensive then. Nor was he panicking and evasive like he had when Adam had framed him and when they had found Adam's _pugio_. In all three cases, his ability to live a normal life in spite of his immortality was in question as well.

Jo sighed. Now, she didn't know what to believe. The evidence said one thing, but Henry's demeanor told her a different story. She hoped that, in the next few minutes, the truth would come out. Only then, she would know what had happened to Henry and why he was acting the way he was.

* * *

Lucas walked into McSorley's and sighed. Henry might not be with him, but Lucas still needed that drink.

He walked through the first half of the bar and to his usual table. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and ordered a beer. He looked at the other empty chairs. Henry, Jo, and Mike should be here celebrating Henry's release from the hospital. They could even make room for Abe and let him join in the festivities.

Now, Jo seemed steamed at Henry. Her hot anger and the fact that she and Henry were going toward the interrogation rooms at this time at night meant only one thing. Jo had uncovered some evidence that pointed toward Henry in one of their cases. Lucas already knew that William Ashbrooke and Gene Tomberlin left no evidence behind in their deaths. That meant that there was evidence in either Brent Watkins' disappearance or in the mystery in the burnt corpse.

Lucas exhaled. Henry was like an older brother—a much older brother—to Lucas, and Jo was like a sister. Of course, Lucas was still waiting for Henry and Jo to get engaged and to make him a part of their wedding party. As a result, Lucas hated to see the discord in their little family.

He looked down and noticed that the waiter had set his beer on the table. He nursed it as he continued his train of thought. The only way that Henry and Jo's fight could stop is if Lucas could find a way to prove Henry's innocence in the burnt corpse. One problem: Lucas didn't know how to do that.

"Come on now. Hitchcock used ketchup in _Psycho_."

Lucas perked up and saw a group of officers across the room from him. They seemed to be deep in conversation.

Another officer leaned over the table. "No, he didn't. He used a mixture of makeup and water to create the blood."

Lucas picked up his glass and strolled to the group as they argued. "Actually, Hitchcock used chocolate sauce for blood." Everyone at the table looked up at him. "It's a similar consistency, and it shows up better in black-and-white films." He felt the pride associated with being the expert rising in him.

One of the officers spun around and looked at him. "How do you know?"

Lucas pulled out a chair and sat down. He extended his hand to the officer now staring at him. "Lucas Wahl, horror film auteur. I also dabble in horror-erotica. You should see some of my student films."

He expected the officers to continue their conversation. Instead, they rose from their seats and left him. "We can have a film festival when you find the time." As he watched the officers walk away, Lucas leaned back and shrugged.

His thoughts immediately returned to the case as he drank his beer. Under ordinary circumstances, he and Henry would reenact the crime and see what could had caused the stab wound near the burnt corpse's stomach. Now, one half of this dynamic duo was depending on the other to back him up. If only Lucas could simulate what had happened…

His eyes fell onto the ketchup sitting on the table. He leaned over, picked up the bottle, and studied the contents. He remembered the officers' argument just minutes ago. _Just maybe…_

Lucas jolted out of his seat, fished the money for his beer out of his pocket, and set the cash on the table. He then raced out of the bar and to the Metro station. A few minutes later, he ran down his street and to his apartment, stopping only to unlock his door. He threw his bag onto the table in the foyer as he headed for his studio. There, he threw opened the cabinets, looked in, and removed the ingredients that he needed.

As he began to gather the tools that he needed, he thought back to when he and Henry were about to leave the OCME. It was just a matter of time—ironic, since Henry has all of the time in the world—before Jo began to assume the worst. Hopefully, Lucas could quickly make the fake blood and test his theory before she did. If he couldn't, then he hoped that Henry would find a way to convince Jo that he was innocent.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I had been writing this entire story in my head since about April 2015. On Halloween night, I was online, and I saw that the phrase "fake blood" was a popular search. I clicked on the links and read the articles. The part where Lucas was inspired to make fake blood popped in my head. At that moment, I decided that I was going to write it down and to share it with you. I really hope that you are enjoying it so far.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note** : I know that I have used "about 240 years" to describe Henry's age. In this chapter, I'm giving his exact age at the time of this story.

There are mild references to the pilot and "Diamonds Are Forever".

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

Henry walked into the interrogation room and sat down at the table. He resisted the urge to sigh. He had known that this day was coming, but he didn't expect it to be today.

Detective Martinez sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table. She drew her mouth into a tight line, and she tried to hold a blank expression on her face. "So, tell me, Henry, how do you know Brent Watkins?"

Her stern voice persuaded him to obey her unspoken command. "Jeff had walked into my office this past Sunday. He saw the image of the victim of the apartment fire on the monitor, and he was certain that the body was his cousin's. That is when I came to you about the case. I didn't know what Brent looked like until I had seen his photograph in his office at WNYL's studios."

"Are you sure? He didn't visit the antiques shop before last Wednesday? You haven't encountered him on your way to work?"

He tried to think back in case her questions prompted a memory. To his frustration, nothing came to the surface. "Not to my knowledge." He knitted his eyebrows together. "Why are you asking me this?"

"When Brent had disappeared, Jeff had agreed to let the police search Brent's apartment in Astoria and to let them take DNA samples from his hairbrush. Brent's DNA matched the samples from our burnt corpse." She leaned over and reached under the table. A couple of seconds later, she pulled up a bag and laid it on the table. "We've also found his blood on your hoodie."

Henry reached over and picked up the bag. It held a blood-stained blue NYPD hoodie like the ones that he had seen in his closet during his first night in the shop. He wondered how he had acquired so many sweat suits as he wasn't a member of the force. The thought of it being connected with the "skinny dipping" incident that Wahl had mentioned this past Monday crossed his mind. If that were the case, then it meant that he had had a number of such incidents during his life in New York. _Why am I frequently going to the river and stripping off my clothes?_

"And his blood was under your fingernails."

His head shot up at her comment. "How?"

"You tell me."

He laid the bag back in the middle of the table before he looked down at the table top. "Honestly, I don't know."

Detective Martinez inhaled, causing him to look back up at her. "Okay, then. What about William Ashbrooke?"

A cold chill spread through Henry's body. She needed to know what he had seen. He took a deep breath. "I walked into the alley. He was standing near the wall of a building to my left. I suddenly heard a gun fire, and I saw him fall back, slide down the wall, and fall to the ground."

Detective Martinez's eyes widened. "Did you see who pulled the trigger?"

He closed his eyes and willed himself to remember what had happened next. He tried every method that he could think of to jog his memory. Unfortunately, none of his efforts could bring the events of that day out of the abyss.

He opened his eyes. "No, I didn't."

Her gaze remained fixed on him. "Have you met William before? Perhaps in London?"

She was certain that he had spent time in the city. He took a minute to try to recall his life there and to see if he ever had an encounter with William and Margaret. "No."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

He broke his gaze and looked down. He couldn't bring himself to tell her that he had feared that this would happen.

"Gene Tomberlin?" Her stern voice snapped his attention to her.

"Like I've said before, Neil Shapiro had stopped by the shop to pick up a Tiffany lamp, two French porcelain vases, and a game table that Abe had sold him last week. I was helping Neil move the table when I smelled decomposition. I initially thought that Gene was still alive, so I broke into his apartment to examine him and to see if he needed medical assistance. That was when we had found him dead. As for any previous encounters, I don't know of any."

Detective Martinez inhaled. She rose from her seat and started to pace. She walked back to the table, leaned over, and placed her hands on it.

"Man! Henry! You don't get it!" Her angry tone froze him. "I have your scarf and an eyewitness placing you at one scene, the victim's blood at another, and your own admission at a third. The prosecutor will recommend life imprisonment at best or the death penalty. At the same time, your defense attorney will use all of your arrests for indecent exposure to argue insanity." She sighed as she removed her hands from the table. "And I honestly don't know which punishment would be the best for you."

As she resumed pacing, he observed her. Under her tough demeanor, she seemed genuinely worried about him. He instantly regretted his decision to never mention his memory issues to her. She deserved the truth.

He admitted to himself that he didn't want any of the three options either. They would take away his ability to tell her what had happened with him. They also would prevent him from ever getting to know her and Abe better should his situation improve.

Suddenly, it felt as though he and Detective Martinez had had this type of conversation in this very room once before. His continued freedom meant that he had managed to prove his innocence then. _Prove my innocence…_

He straightened his posture and readjusted himself in his seat. "There was a discrepancy between the visual postmortem changes in Gene Tomberlin's body and his estimated time of death." Detective Martinez slowed to a stop and faced him. "I took his clothing, his medical history, the room's temperature, and the evidence of a struggle into consideration, and I recalculated the time." He paused to judge her reaction.

"Which was?" In her eyes, curiosity had replaced the anger that he had seen a minute earlier.

"11:30 last Wednesday morning." She briefly opened her mouth in surprise. At that moment, he realized that she knew both Gene's original time of death and the time that Henry was taken to the hospital.

He decided to continue. "We both know that Brent had died between 9:30 and 10:15 last Wednesday morning, and I suspect that his time of death was closer to 10:15. If I was in the room with him at the same time, then how did I survive the fire?"

She wrinkled her eyebrows and thought for a moment. "Good question."

"In the case of William Ashbrooke, you told me yesterday that your witness was drunk, which means that his testimony is inadmissible in court. As for the scarf…" He tried to remember whether he had ever worn one. "I don't know how it got there. Perhaps I had pulled it off in an attempt to save William's life?"

He studied her thoughtful expression, but he still wasn't sure if she believed him. He looked her in the eye. "Detective Martinez, I will assure you that I didn't kill anyone."

At the sound of her name, her eyes widened, and she inhaled. Her eyes darted around the room before landing back on him. Then, she spun around and quickly left the room.

The door closed, leaving Henry to his thoughts. He longed to know what she was thinking. She might had been bluffing about her belief of his statements. Maybe she believed that treatment in Bellevue was the best option for him. A voice in the back of his mind told him to trust her. In any case, he wanted to tell her the truth about his condition before she acted on her decision.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Detective Martinez re-entered the room. This time, she wore her coat and her hat. "Come on, Henry." Her voice was softer and on the verge of wavering.

He rose from his seat and followed her out of the room. He sighed. He was terrified about what would happen next. As he didn't know what to do, he decided to resign himself to his fate—whatever it might be.

* * *

As she and Henry rode the elevator down to the garage, Jo studied him. He remained quiet, and he avoided eye contact with her. In fact, he seemed very nervous. The only small comfort that she could take was that she now knew which parent had given Abe his pensive nature when he was upset.

Jo glanced down at the floor. She knew that the investigation would lead her closer to the truth, but she wasn't prepared for what she had found. Henry had confirmed his presence in the alley the day William Ashbrooke was killed, but he hadn't provide any more details than what she had known.

He, however, had provided more insight into Gene Tomberlin's and Brent Watkins' deaths. That, like his observations during his interrogation about the 2014 train crash, had refocused their search for a suspect. Henry had a _very_ solid alibi for Gene's revised time of death as he had been brought into Bellevue's emergency room at that moment. In Brent's death, Henry had made two excellent points. Lucas could had miscalculated Brent's time of death due to his fatigue from his workload last week. In addition, they had evidence that Brent's death was likely later than 9:30 and earlier than 10:30 last Wednesday. Fire Marshal Gideons had mentioned that the neighbors had heard something hit a door several times around 10:10 that morning. Either Brent or Henry could had made that noise.

She turned back to Henry. If he had made the sound, then he must had been looking for a way out of the apartment. Ordinarily, he would use his immortality to escape the situation. That, however, hadn't happened in this case. Then again, he hadn't died in the fire either. Both of those observations led her to wonder why.

The elevator door opened, and, for the second time that day, she led a Morgan man to her car. As she unlocked her car doors, she inhaled. The interrogation had produced additional evidence that Abe's and her suspicions about Henry losing his memory were right. During the questioning, Henry had seemed confused as to why he wore hoodies and scarves. He would had remembered his life in London, but it was as if he had believed that he had lived elsewhere. In addition, he didn't seem to know that life imprisonment, the death penalty, and hospitalization in Bellevue would expose his immortality to everyone.

The second that he had called her "Detective Martinez", she knew that something was definitely wrong with him. Unless he was talking to officials, witnesses, or suspects, he hadn't called her by that name since their first case. During their drive to Grand Central Station, he had dropped the formality and had called her "Jo" for the first time. After that, he had been using "Detective" as his nickname for her. When he had said "Detective Martinez" today, she had struggled to remain calm as she informed Mike and Lt. Reece of Henry's innocence in all three cases and as she had gone upstairs to get her hat and coat so she could take him home.

She closed her door and scanned the garage for eavesdroppers. Satisfied that they had complete solitude, she turned to Henry. He was trying to stay calm, but it was a losing battle as sweat beaded on his forehead and his complexion was turning pale. His hand rested in the seat between them, almost as if he was trying to use it to anchor himself to his seat. The idea that he thought that she was taking him to Bellevue hit her like a ton of bricks.

She inhaled as she looked down at the floorboard to calm her nerves. She had to know how severe his memory loss was. "Henry, what do you remember?"

His sigh and a moment of silence prompted her to turn back to him. He looked out the windshield. "I was born in 1979. My father was an antiques dealer. He and Abe were business partners; Dad acquired the goods and had shipped them to Abe for resale. I attended St. Paul's School and then Oxford, where I had earned my medical degree. Upon graduation, I became a doctor in the emergency department, where I worked until my father's death. When he passed, I spent some time backpacking through Europe as my way of grieving. I then moved here to the United States to take over his half of his and Abe's business. I fell in love with the country, and I had decided to stay. I decided to become a medical examiner when a close friend's death had deeply affected me, and I have been working with the OCME ever since. I also have been working with the NYPD after I had informed the officers conducting an investigation about an unusual weapon that I had found."

Jo inhaled. She recognized his story the second that he had mentioned his birth year. It was his current cover. The part about his father and Abe being business partners was from their rooftop dinner when they had first started working together. Liz Chamberlin had unwittingly included the truth about Henry's medical degree when she had doctored his records as her way of thanking him for saving her life. The backpacking in Europe was Jo's addition; a few years ago, she had mentioned it to Henry's and her dates at the time when they had unexpectedly found themselves at neighboring tables in the same restaurant. The parts about his education at St. Paul's School, his later work as an ER doctor, and his and Jo's partnership were the truth. The rest of it consisted of things that Henry had come up with on his own.

He continued as he looked up at her. "Beyond that, all I can tell you is that I remember waking up in the hospital last week with Abe by my side. I spent the next day in the hospital and was released the following day. I have told you everything else when we were traveling to WNYL's studios and when we had travelled to the illegal bar."

She studied his expression. Gratefully, his panic had lessened to an extent. Replacing it was a tearful look. He inhaled. "I'm sorry, Detective, but I don't remember you."

Stunned at the confirmation, she sat there for a minute. It was no wonder that he was acting the way that he had over the past week. He was already frightened by his amnesia; being the prime suspect in three murder investigations didn't help matters. She reached out and placed her hand over his. To her surprise, his hand remained still the entire time, and it instantly relaxed.

Tears welled in her eyes as she began to feel the pain of his lack of memories of her. Everything that they had done, everything that they had said over the past few years—gone in an instant. She closed her eyes to stop the flow. She couldn't cry now; he needed her to stay strong.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the seat between them to steady her emotions. While she was thinking, he had slipped his hand from under hers and had wrapped his hand around hers. She looked up at his face. He was staring out the windshield again, lost in his thoughts. Apparently, he had done it to comfort her.

She inhaled. They couldn't stay here; they both might lose their composure. She gently removed her hand from his and placed it onto the wheel. "I'm taking you home." With that, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot to begin the ride back to the shop.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Jo parked her car and jogged back to her house in Washington Heights, barely stopping for traffic. A couple of minutes later, she had reached her steps and started to climb them. The second that her foot landed on the step that she and Henry had sat on several times, the floodgates opened. Tears freely streamed down her face, taking her mascara with it. She fumbled for her keys and let herself in.

She quickly placed her hat and her coat on the coat rack near the door and inhaled. She walked to the kitchen, found a paper towel, and dried her eyes. She then threw open the cabinets and looked at the liquor. She wanted the strongest one that would completely dull the pain that she felt.

She slowly closed the doors. If she took a sip now, she would drink herself into a stupor. Of the moment, that was not an option. She still had three open cases that somehow had involved Henry. In addition, he needed her support to help him get through his amnesia.

She sighed as she turned around and began to pace. She had been very emotional over the past week and a half. She shouldn't be feeling this way. Henry didn't die permanently; he had temporarily disappeared and had lost 238 years of memories in the process. So, why was she acting the same way that she did when Sean had died?

" _What kills you is not what causes your heart to stop beating. It's what prevents you from living."_

That was from a guy who knew too much about both types of death for his own personal liking. The day that Abigail had walked out on him, he had died emotionally and socially, and he had stayed that way for thirty years. Before then, Nora and Bedlam had killed the belief that his immortality was a gift, any residual spiritual faith that he might had, and any faith in humanity's goodness. Every time that he disappeared because his secret had been exposed, his ability to live a normal life in a given location and with a specific group of people ended.

Amnesia was another form of death.

Correction: his memory showed a few signs of life. They, however, didn't know what had caused his memory loss or if it could be reversed with another death and awakening. Until they had learned what happened, Abe and Jo would have to assume that his memory would return in time.

She slowed her pace. It still did not explain why it felt like the death of a loved one. She and Henry were just close friends. They had spent a lot of time outside of work talking about everything, including their late spouses and the people whom they've dated. If Henry was merely a friend, then she shouldn't be equating his amnesia with Sean's death.

She remembered her and Henry's relationship. Even if neither of them had never mentioned that they had any romantic feelings for each other, there were times where their actions had suggested that they were interested in more than a friendship. Was there a possibility that she and Henry had become more than just friends without realizing it?

She shook her head and blinked back the tears. Of course not; they had dated other people. Still, they hadn't dated anyone else in a couple of years, and it seemed like their feelings for each other were growing stronger every day.

She stopped. Maybe this incident had proven that she had always known that they both cared about each other in more than just a friendly way.

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. _Great._ _Now_ _is the time to realize that._

Her heart ached at the timing, though. She couldn't think about it now. Henry needed to recover his memory first before they could begin a relationship.

As for the open cases, she still needed to solve them for his sake. The prosecutor could argue that Henry had killed Brent, set the fire, left the apartment, walked to Gene's apartment, killed him, and walked all the way to the portion of East River Park near East 6th Avenue before collapsing near the river. The prosecutor could also argue that Henry had killed William and tried to obstruct justice in Gene's death. Like Jo had needed proof of Henry's amnesia, the prosecutor would need irrefutable proof of Henry's innocence.

She walked into her study and found a legal pad and a pen. She then stepped back into the living room and removed the maroon cashmere scarf that Henry had given her for Christmas a couple of years ago from the coat rack. With her tools in hand, she walked back to the kitchen table. She laid them down on the surface and draped the scarf over her. She sat down and placed the pad and pen in front of her.

Tears threatened to flow again as she stroked her scarf. She hoped that she and Abe could jog Henry's memory and bring it completely back to life. If not, then she didn't know what she would do.

She closed her eyes. For them to jog his memory, Henry needed to stay out of jail. She inhaled to steady her emotions and to calm her thoughts. She pulled the paper and pen toward her and began writing down all of the facts of the three cases. Hopefully, the facts contained a way to convince the prosecutor that Henry was innocent. He was depending on it.

* * *

Henry inhaled as he opened the door to the living space above the shop. On the one hand, he was relieved that Detective Martinez had dropped him off here instead of at Bellevue or at the jail. On the other hand, he wished that she would had taken him to Bellevue to save Abe the trouble of making the decision himself.

Henry stepped inside the door and closed it. As he trudged up the stairs, his thoughts drifted to his and Detective Martinez's conversation in her car. The second that he had closed the door, he had been terrified that she planned to drive him to Bellevue. The slight quiver in her voice, however, indicated that she only had plans to listen to him at that moment.

Surprisingly, her expression eased his tensions to the point where he could talk about his memory loss. He was able to construct a story from his hospital bracelet, the second daydream that he had while he was in the hospital, what he had told Neil Shapiro, and from thoughts that had come to him as he spoke. As he talked, the unexpected words of his story sounded as though he had lived it.

He thought that he was imagining the familiarity of his story. He decided to calm himself by studying Detective Martinez. To his surprise, she never contradicted him. In fact, it was almost as if she knew the details herself. He wished that he could truly remember any of the events from it.

The most difficult part of their conversation, though, was telling her that he didn't remember her. Over the course of the last few days, he had quickly come to care about her. The last thing that he wanted to do was to add more pain to what she had already suffered in her life.

Yet, he had when he told her that, to him, she was a complete stranger. He immediately felt something heavy on his hand, so he looked down at the seat between them to investigate. To his surprise, she, in spite of her suffering, had placed her hand over his. He knew that she needed comfort herself. So, he gently slipped his hand out from hers and wrapped his hand around hers. As he looked away, he wondered what else he could do to ease her heartache.

When she drove toward the antiques shop, he was astonished. She probably thought that he was completely innocent and that he wasn't in need of psychiatric treatment. He chided himself; she likely was taking him back to the shop until she could gather more evidence. Again, the voice in his mind told him to trust her. He had sighed; he had no choice.

Henry reached the top of the stairs. He knew that, no matter what happened between him and Detective Martinez, he had made things right with her. Now, he needed to make things right with Abe.

With that in mind, Henry walked into the kitchen. Abe was shelving their breakfast dishes and his dinner plates. Henry's heart ached in him. Abe had taken him in during his time of need years ago and had stayed with him through this time. Henry hated to bring him grief by telling him about his amnesia.

As Henry walked into the living room and hung up his coat, his thoughts returned to a few minutes ago. When he had opened his car door, Detective Martinez had looked at him, squeezed his hand, and wished him luck. He got out of the car and headed for the shop. When he had looked back at her, she had lingered instead of driving off. Henry didn't know how, but that memory was giving him the courage that he needed now.

"I thought that you were going out for drinks."

Henry looked at Abe, who stood at the island. "There had been a slight change in plans." Abe wrinkled his eyebrows. Henry knew that he needed to proceed before he lost his courage. "Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah." Abe walked into the living room. As his roommate took a seat on the sofa, Henry looked around the room. He would hate to leave this place.

"What's this about?"

Henry walked over to one of the chairs near the fireplace. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands in front of him. To keep his composure, he focused on the coffee table separating the two men. "This is not easy for me to say, but…" He inhaled. _Here goes…_ "I have been having difficulty remembering things lately. Actually, I have a great deal of difficulty remembering my life."

"Amnesia?"

Henry's eyes widened, and he looked at the older man. Abe wasn't very surprised by the revelation. "How…?"

"I noticed it when you first woke up in the hospital last week. I thought that it would go away, so I didn't say anything."

Henry glanced down at the coffee table. He should had known that his long-time roommate would had immediately noticed it.

"How severe is it?"

Henry looked back up. "Honestly, I don't remember much of anything." He paused to gather his thoughts. "I don't remember you, Detective Martinez, Mr. Wahl, my parents, how I became a medical examiner, or even how I started working with the NYPD. Everyone is certain that I'm from London, but I have no memory of ever being in the city or of why I moved to New York."

He studied Abe. The older man inhaled, but he quickly became lost in his thoughts.

Henry sighed. He wondered what Abe was thinking.

"Why haven't you said anything about this earlier?" Abe's voice was concerned but calm.

He didn't want to let Abe know that he suspected that he would be committed very soon. He straightened himself in his seat. "Detective Martinez had asked me about the three murders that we've been working on. I seem to be the only link between them, but that assumption is based on circumstantial evidence."

"Have you told her yet?"

Henry swallowed and nodded.

"How's she taking it?"

Henry's eyes darted around the room. This was _not_ how he had imagined the course of this conversation. He focused his attention back on Abe. "She's upset, as one can expect. I hope that she'll be alright."

Abe looked him in the eye. "She will; she's a strong woman. And she'll figure out who the real culprit is."

Henry hoped so. As for his and Abe's relationship, he worried that this had destroyed what they had. "What now?"

Abe rose and walked over to him. He laid his hands on Henry's shoulders. Henry's shoulders slightly flinched, but amazingly, they mostly remained still.

"We'll get through this."

Henry stared at Abe. The older man seemed so confident that Henry would survive this. He wished that he could be as certain.

" _We_ ". Henry let out an unconsciously held breath, and he began to smile. Abe had no intention of taking him to Bellevue. Instead, the two of them would fight his amnesia together here—like a family.

Abe's voice broke Henry's thoughts. "I would like to continue this conversation, but my bladder will not allow me that luxury. Now, if you will excuse me…" He released Henry's shoulders and began to jog to the bathroom.

Henry turned in his seat and watched Abe disappear into the hallway. Henry's smile remained. For the first time since he had regained consciousness, he felt free of the shackles of keeping a secret. Two people whom he cared about now knew of his condition.

His mind went back to the last minute of their conversation. When Abe had said "we", did he intentionally include Detective Martinez? At first, Henry wasn't certain; Abe hadn't met her yet. So, how did he seem to know her? It suddenly dawned on him that Abe and Detective Martinez had met at some point in Henry's past. Abe had approved of Henry and Detective Martinez's friendship, and he likely saw their care for each other and had been encouraging their relationship.

Henry shook his head. He and Detective Martinez didn't have a relationship; he didn't know how she felt about him. He remembered their relationship since the moment that he had seen her in the stairwell. There were indications that she cared for him as much as he cared for her. They might had even become more than close friends without realizing it.

Stunned by the revelation, Henry pivoted back to a seated position.

A few seconds later, he regained the ability to think. For him to continue his relationships with Abe and Detective Martinez, he wanted a way to relate to them. For most people, that would be through shared memories. Of the moment, that was impossible with Henry; he needed another way.

Perhaps he shouldn't focus on what he had lost; it was causing all of them grief. Instead, he should use what he had now and what he could deduce about his life to relate to them. Maybe his limited knowledge about his life and his deductions contained a detail that would jog his memory in the meantime.

He also wanted to help Detective Martinez with her pain. His thoughts suddenly wandered to the three cases that they had. Abe was sure that she believed that Henry was innocent. She, however, needed proof that could back up his statements. He exhaled. The autopsies had revealed everything that he had known about the cases.

Henry recalled his interrogation. Apparently, they hadn't revealed all of the killer's secrets. When he looked at things from her perspective, _he_ still had some doubts about his innocence.

To prove his innocence to everyone's satisfaction, they needed more evidence. He couldn't do any more in William's death. Detective Martinez needed to conduct background checks into Kenneth Lanham and Oscar Cushing. She and Detective Hanson also had to check something that Henry had heard Detective Hanson call "surveillance footage". In the meantime, Henry would have to learn the type of murder weapon used in Brent's death and to finally examine Gene.

Energized by recent events, Henry wanted to get started on everything right away. He and Abe could begin in a couple of minutes, and he could check on Detective Martinez before he started work tomorrow morning. As for the cases, there was one problem; he would have to wait until morning.


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note** : Yes! The timing of Henry and Jo's realization that they've been falling in love with each other all this time and that they had become a couple was weird. I do have a plan for where it will go, and I think that you will enjoy it.

There are a couple of mild spoilers for "Skinny Dipper", "Hitler on the Half Shell", and "The Night in Question" and some general spoilers for the show.

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

To Henry's pleasant surprise, the morning's walk to the office was much quicker than usual. He even had time to stop at the coffee shop near the OCME and buy a cup of coffee. As he strolled toward his office's door, he smiled. Within the past few days, this had become routine.

He sat his coffee cup down and exchanged coats. He felt more energized and much calmer than he had since his first day at work. As much as last night's interrogation and its aftermath had frightened him, they also had put things into perspective.

A long talk with Abe helped. After Abe had returned from the bathroom, he had asked Henry about the events of the past week. Henry told him almost every detail, choosing to keep the moments between Detective Martinez and himself as well as his daydreams, the brief flashes that he had seen, and his observations about his apparent tendency to find himself naked near the river private. Abe's smiling skepticism about the professional nature of the visits indicated that Abe not only knew that there was more to the story but also that he approved of it. As for Henry's more unusual thoughts, he barely knew why he experienced them, and he didn't expect Abe to have any idea about them. As Henry recounted the week's events, Abe seemed to take the news quite well.

This morning at breakfast, Abe asked Henry what he had deduced about his life so far. Henry was stunned by the question. Although he had involuntarily made several deductions since his return to consciousness, last night was the first time that he had thought of doing it intentionally. Remembering that Abe had called him "the resident Sherlock Holmes" the other night, Henry decided to oblige the older man. A few times, Abe rose his eyebrows in surprise. Henry interpreted that as a sign that the conclusion was wrong and that he needed to make the right one. The rest of the time, though, one expression dominated Abe's face.

Belief.

The idea that Henry was correct in his assumptions about his life was confirmed with Abe's amazed and pleased "You deduced all that?" Surprise gave way to elation and relief as Henry had realized that he had just discovered the basic story of his life.

As Henry took a sip of his coffee, he looked out at the autopsy room. He now knew that he was born and raised in London, that he had been educated at St. Paul's School, and that he had obtained his medical degree from Oxford. At some point, he had learned Spanish, and he had traveled extensively in his youth. He had moved to the United States at some time after his father's death. He had met Abe when Henry was younger, but he had become a member of Abe's family since then. He and Abe had become business partners between the time that he had been an emergency department doctor and that a beloved family member's death had led to his decision to become a medical examiner. The OCME had assigned Wahl to him after Henry had begun to work with them. During one of his autopsies, he had met Detectives Martinez and Hanson and Lt. Reece. He had alerted them to an unusual, unknown weapon, and, as a result of his insight, he and Wahl had been assigned to their cases since then. He had become friends with the two men and Lt. Reece over the years. As for Detective Martinez, his relationship with her started at the same time as his work with the NYPD. They had started out as close friends, but, along the way, they had somehow become a couple. With the exception of introducing her to Abe and touching her in platonic ways, he had never acted on any of the romantic feelings that he had toward her.

The story that he had told Detective Martinez last night had sounded as though he had lived it. What he had deduced at the breakfast table this morning, however, _felt_ like it had actually happened. An intense desire to remember the finer details of his life immediately filled him, and he believed that his thoughts could now pierce the fog of his amnesia and roll it away.

He took a second sip of coffee. When was the last time that he had felt this way?

 _ **A Coruña, Spain, January 28, 1815**_

 _Henry finished his knot and inspected the bandage. The young boy's cut on his right arm had looked severe, but, fortunately, most of its appearance was from the dried blood on the skin._

 _He straightened up and rose from his squat. "Señora Martinez, Ramón will be fine. It was just a minor cut. I want you to leave the bandage on him tonight, and I will return in the morning to remove it."_

" _Thank you, Dr. Morgan. You do not know how much we appreciate it. Will you please stay for dinner?"_

" _Please." Young Ramón's pleading eyes melted Henry's heart._

" _I would love to stay, but I have to finish some work with Dr. Melendez. Perhaps tomorrow evening?" He knew that Señor Martinez would return from his month-long fishing expedition later this evening, and Henry wished to congratulate him on his wife's pregnancy._

" _That would be wonderful. We will see you then."_

" _Until tomorrow." Henry removed his hat and his doctor's bag from the table and placed his hat on his head. As he left the Martinez's house, he took one look back at the mother and son and smiled._

 _He walked down the dusty, narrow streets and looked at the buildings. It had been several months since he had arrived, and he had felt at home here. The people were friendly and had welcomed him and his medical skills. It took some time to become accustomed to the food, but it was delicious. The weather, even with the slight chill at this time of year, was pleasant. Everything about the city had made him forget what had led to his arrival._

 _Two unexpected masculine voices behind him interrupted his reverie. At first, the sounds were completely foreign to him. The more that he listened, the more individual sounds and then words and phrases entered his memory and turned something in it. After another minute, his eyes widened, and he stopped._

 _He was surprised to hear his mother tongue._

" _Do not worry. We will find a doctor soon."_

 _Henry turned and saw the two men. Their clothes and London accents seemed completely out of place, leading him to assume that they were here on official business. The tight grip that one man had on his abdomen revealed that perhaps their mission needed to wait._

 _Henry opened his mouth and tried to remember how to form the sounds of his mother tongue. After a few tries, he finally was confident enough to attempt to use it again._

" _Excuse me." The movement of his mouth felt strange._

 _Both men turned their heads. Surprise registered on their faces._

 _Henry continued. "I know where one is. If you would allow me, I will direct you to his office." He walked to the gentleman on his right and stood by his side. The man relaxed as Henry wrapped his arm around him._

 _A few minutes later, they arrived at the building where Pedro had opened their practice. Henry released the ill man, opened the door, and let them in. Henry joined them as he closed the door._

" _Pedro?"_

 _The silence greeted him. Pedro must had been visiting a patient._

 _Henry removed his hat and placed it and his bag onto the table to the left of the door. He directed the men to a nearby chair. As his patient sat down, Henry removed his stethoscope from his bag._

 _He walked over and examined the man. He then placed one end of the stethoscope on the man's chest and his ear on the other end. As Henry examined his patient, the familiar sounds and movements stirred memories that he had not thought of since he was found floating on the ocean._

 _He inhaled to calm himself. He looked at his patient. "You will be fine. All you have is an upset stomach."_

" _Are you certain?"_

" _Yes." His mouth's movements now felt comfortable._

 _The other man looked at him. "How do you know English?"_

" _I was born and raised in London."_

" _What are you doing here? This is far from home."_

 _Henry studied the men. He barely could believe what had happened to him. How could he expect them to understand it?_

 _He inhaled. A version of the truth would have to suffice. "I had leaned too far over the rail of my ship, and I was swept overboard. The crew of the San Carlos del Rey found me and had brought me here." He paused. "May I ask why you are here?"_

" _We have friends in Paris' textile industry who wish to expand their business into the British and Spanish markets. Nithercott and Company had agreed to provide credit for the expansion."_

 _The ill man spoke up. "Provided that we serve as confidential agents for the company in London."_

 _Henry nodded. He had heard several of his patients speak favorably of the merchant bank before he had left England._

 _The patient extended his hand. "Robert Scofield."_

 _Henry shook it. "Dr. Henry Morgan." He grew tense; he had no idea what they had heard about him._

 _The other man cleared his throat and stretched out his hand as well. "Edward Chadwick."_

 _Henry took it. "Pleasure to meet you."_

 _Robert leaned forward. "Morgan? As in the Morgan Shipping Company?"_

 _He felt immobile. There were several unrelated families in London who shared his surname. He wished that the two men would associate him with one of them._

 _Robert stared steadfastly at him. "We do not know about you, but we have found their turn to the slave trade appalling. From what we had heard, though, there are a couple of men affiliated with the company who are working to end the company's involvement in the despicable practice. We have hopes that they will succeed."_

 _Henry began to shift his weight as relief that they did not know who his family was overwhelmed him. "As a staunch abolitionist, I hope that they will too."_

 _He looked around the room. Memories of his life back in London returned to him, and he was filled with an intense desire to see his family and friends again. He knew that he had enough money for passage. Perhaps it was time to return home._

" _Will you be returning to London soon?"_

" _In three days, we will leave for Paris to tell our friends the news. After that, we will return to London."_

 _Three days. That will give him time to have dinner with the Martinez family and to tell Pedro that he would be leaving A Coruña._

" _Do you mind if I joined you?"_

 _Startled, Edward and Robert turned to each other and quietly spoke for a minute. When they finished, Edward turned to him. "We had planned to ask you how we can pay you for your services. Consider this our payment."_

 _Henry smiled. In a few days, he would be returning home. He still did not know what awaited him, but he would learn soon enough._

 _ **Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, New York City, Present-Day**_

Henry blinked several times and slowly lowered his coffee cup to his desk. He just experienced another daydream.

He sighed. His deductions didn't explain them, his knowledge of various subjects, his apparent tendency to strip his clothes off at the river, or the few random flashes. Nor did it reveal why Abe had thought that Henry was his father, why Abe had said that Henry had a very long life, or why there were a few discrepancies between the story that he had told Detective Martinez and the one that he had put together this morning. There must be some rational explanation for them.

Maybe he could develop one on his own. Apparently, his childhood was filled with days reading Charles Dickens, adventure stories, Sherlock Holmes, and the encyclopedia. An overactive imagination would explain the nature of his daydreams while an intense curiosity about the world would lead to his random bits of knowledge.

As for the "skinny dipping" incidents, he initially couldn't think of a reason. He suddenly heard his own voice telling someone that he was a somnambulist and that he slept naked. His eyes widened. As irrational as it sounded, it was the most plausible explanation for his unusual behavior. Perhaps Wahl had misheard him after one incident, and Henry had never corrected him. That would be righted very soon.

Several questions, though, remained. Why did he always go to the river? How did he routinely survive the walk from the antiques shop to the river without being killed by oncoming traffic? Why didn't the police arrest him before he reached his destination?

He could feel his elation decrease as he thought about his unsolved mysteries. Maybe he should leave them for another day. Today, he had been able to uncover the most important pieces of information about his life. After the past week's events, he was ecstatic to have that, and it would give him the basis to continue with his life.

He looked at the clock. He should go upstairs and see how Detective Martinez was doing. A loved one suffering from a medical condition or being a suspect in a murder was difficult enough on its own. Having a loved one experiencing both simultaneously…. He could not even begin to imagine what she was feeling.

He wanted to have some evidence to present to her. He felt that he should begin with Brent's murder as it had contained the most incriminating evidence against Henry. Giving her the type of weapon used in Brent's death would introduce new suspects for her to interrogate.

He remembered performing the autopsy and sighed. According to procedure, he was to measure the dimensions of any wound in the corpse before opening the deceased. According to his memory, he was so preoccupied with trying to remember how to conduct an autopsy that he had never made the measurements.

Henry bit his lower lip. Maybe the file contained the crucial information. He flipped through his folders until he found Brent's file. When he opened it, he breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Fortunately, Wahl had made the necessary measurements. Henry pulled his legal pad toward him and noted them. Using the numbers and some information that he had spontaneously remembered, he began to sketch what they suggested.

When he finished his drawing, he curiously looked at it. The picture appeared to be a long, double-bladed knife with a tapered point and a cross-section shaped like a diamond. He had no idea what type of blade looked like that.

He looked into the empty autopsy room. With his experience, Wahl should know what kind of knife had created the wound.

Henry removed the piece of paper from the pad, folded it, and slipped it into his pants pocket. He rose from his chair and walked to Wahl's desk to see if he had arrived at work. Wahl's Metro card hung from the lamp, his coat and a grey scarf were draped over the chair, and his messenger bag sat under the table. Henry walked over to the coolers and checked for Wahl there. Unfortunately, though, the young man was nowhere to be seen.

Henry sighed. He knew that Wahl had to be somewhere in the building. He hoped that someone hadn't requested Wahl and that the OCME had ignored their promise to Henry that Wahl would be working with him exclusively.

Henry walked out of the room and began to check the other autopsy rooms for the young man. He hoped that he could find his assistant so that they could return to work.

* * *

"Please don't tell me that you robbed a blood bank…or got some inspiration from _Moonlight_."

Jo stared at Mike. This was one of the few times that she had no idea what he was talking about.

Her attention turned toward Lucas. He leaned against a cart holding several bags filled with red liquid. "I assure you I did _not_ rob a blood bank, although I'm quite pleased that you think that I have. As for _Moonlight_ , we don't keep people's blood like that for safety reasons."

His expression changed to a more defensive one as Mike stared at him. "I couldn't get into _Moonlight_ when it originally aired; it was too fluffy for my personal taste. But, since our own unique ship has launched, I thought that I would give it another shot."

Jo's heart pounded in her chest. It was only last night that she had realized that she and Henry had unconsciously become a couple over the years. How in the world did Lucas find out so fast? A second later, the memory of Lucas pairing them—while they were investigating Abigail's disappearance and death, no less—flashed before her eyes.

 _Man! We were so obvious back then! How come neither of us had never realized it before now_?

"Lucas, aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" Abe pulled the zipper of his hazard suit up and started to pull the hood over his head. "I think that the couple needs to actually have a few dates first before you can call them a ship."

Feeling her heart rate begin to slow with Abe's comments, she observed his actions. She wanted to let him know that Lucas, Henry, and she never wore their hoods in this room. Jo stepped over to him and grasped the hood. He stared at her and automatically released it.

"Come on now, Abe." Jo could hear the protest in Lucas' voice as she walked around Abe and smoothed the hood. "You, of all people, have seen the signs—"

Jo couldn't let this conversation continue. "One half of your so-called ship is standing right here, and she wants to prove the other half's innocence." Pleased with her handiwork, she stepped between the older man and Mike. She nodded toward the cart. "What's in the bags?"

Lucas sobered and stood straighter. A grin crossed his face. "Fake blood—made from hand sanitizer, chocolate sauce, red food coloring, motor lubricant, and hair gel. I came up with the idea last night while at McSorley's."

"And that is?" Mike prompted as he slipped his booties over his dress shoes.

"We'll re-enact the murder and see whether we can see if we can replicate whatever you had seen. Since you and Jo are the only ones to know about it and since we can't include Henry, I called Abe in to play the killer. By the way, what are we looking for?"

Jo swallowed. She wasn't sure how much Henry had told his son about the case. "We found Brent's blood on the lower half of Henry's hoodie and under his fingernails."

Her eyes darted from Lucas to Abe. Lucas' jaw dropped open, and he stumbled into the cart. He quickly noticed a couple of bags shaking and threw his hands on them to steady them. By contrast, Abe was surprisingly calm about the revelation. Henry must had told him last night or this morning.

Mike eyeballed the younger Morgan. "No offense to you, Abe, but I'm closer to Doc's height. I should play the killer." He looked back at Lucas. "How tall was Brent?"

"Six, two." Instead of begging to change roles, Lucas was calm.

Jo smiled. He had volunteered to play the victim today.

Lucas surveyed the Tyvek-clad group and rubbed his hands together. "Well, shall we? As Sherlock Holmes would say, the game's afoot!" He turned and pushed the cart toward the automotive processing room's open space.

Mike rolled his eyes as he fell in behind Lucas. "Sherlock Holmes has never said that. He said 'The game is on.'."

"In the BBC's version with Benedict Cumberbatch, he has. But he also had said 'the game's afoot' in _The Return of Sherlock Holmes_ …."

As she and Abe followed the other half of the team, he leaned toward her. "Dad told me about everything last night."

His soft, wavering voice made Jo stop and close her eyes to keep the tears from forming. Seventy-three years together—filled with the moment that Abigail had placed Abe in Henry's arms for the first time, diaper changes, bike rides, piano lessons, Abe's first kiss, high school graduation, sending him off to Vietnam and then Berkeley, Henry's reaction to both of Abe's marriages to and divorces from Maureen, Abe's reaction to Abigail's disappearance, opening the antiques shop, Abe's decision to pick up right where he had forced Henry to abandon his search for her, finding Abigail's body and burying her, and Abe's reaction to Jo's entry into their lives—gone in a heartbeat.

Jo wanted to embrace Abe. She wanted to tell him that his father was a strong man, that he had been through much worse before, and that he would survive this. She, however, couldn't bring herself to do it. It wasn't just because of the time and the place. She didn't know whether Henry would come out of this relatively unscathed, like in any of his deaths, or, like with his decision to tell Nora the truth about what had happened aboard _The Empress of Africa_ , whether he would have residual effects that would last for eternity.

Abe's words echoed in her ears. " _About everything_." She inhaled to calm herself. That meant that Henry had told him about last night's events.

She opened her eyes. Lucas and Mike were already in the open, and Abe had not left her side. She studied the older man. A sense of pride filled her as she realized that Abe had volunteered to help them clear his father.

Abe placed a hand on her shoulder, and the gesture comforted her. She smiled at him, and the two joined their friends.

* * *

As Jo and Abe entered the space, she noticed that the floor was covered in clear plastic. She had to give Lucas some credit for placing several tarpaulins over the space's floor.

Lucas handed Mike a knife. Mike held the blade in one hand and the hilt with the other. He momentarily glanced down at it. "So, is this the weapon?"

"It's not, but it's close to the same dimensions. Henry would have a good idea of what type of knife was used." He then removed a bag from the cart.

Jo froze. Since his return to work, Jo had noticed that Henry seemed to be missing quite a bit of information in addition to his personal memories. What if he didn't know his weapons?

She sighed. She couldn't think of it now. She blinked to ensure that she could stay focused on the re-enactment.

When she looked at Lucas, he was positioning the bag over his stomach. "We know that Brent's killer had stabbed him in the abdomen. The blade entered Brent's spleen and severed an artery, causing his death."

Jo nodded as she moved around the men to get a better view of the re-enactment. Henry would agree with that assessment even under ordinary circumstances. Abigail had discovered his secret because of that type of wound.

Mike wrapped one hand around the knife's hilt and positioned the blade so that he could stab Lucas' bag with it.

Lucas' eyes widened, and his voice squeaked. "Whatever you do, please make sure that you don't pierce the bag all the way through. I like my life, and I completely intend to live a long one."

Mike dropped his arms and stared at him. "Relax! I'll be careful."

He then repositioned the knife and stabbed the bag with it. Red liquid poured out onto the floor, and some spilled onto the blade. Jo inspected Mike's hazard suit. Unfortunately, there was no blood on it anywhere.

Lucas examined Mike's suit also and wrinkled his eyebrows. He then set the bag onto the ground and removed another bag from the cart. The two men repeated the procedure. Again, the test yielded the same results.

Puzzled, Lucas stared at the bags. "Maybe the knife severed a vein instead. I should had included some sort of pumping mechanism in the bags to test that."

"Maybe we're doing it wrong." Abe stepped over to Mike and gestured for the knife.

"Um, Abe, I hate to mention it, but Brent had to be standing for this."

The older man stared steadfastly at Mike. "As the son of both a doctor and a nurse, I've picked up a few things about medicine in my lifetime."

Jo looked at Abe. _Not to mention that you've killed your father multiple times over the past thirty-three years_.

Mike studied Abe and reluctantly handed him the knife. "What do you think happened?"

"Lucas, get another bag and lie down." Lucas unhesitatingly did as he was told.

Jo broke her silence. "Abe, what are you thinking?"

Abe knelt down beside Lucas and positioned the knife over Henry's assistant. "I agree with you that Brent was standing up when he was murdered. However, if we replicate the stab wound while Lucas is standing, the fake blood will spill out of the bag before I can demonstrate another way that Brent's blood could have gotten onto Henry's sweat suit."

Abe then stabbed the bag. Fake blood ran out of the bag and onto both Lucas' hazard suit and the blade. Abe laid the knife down, placed his gloved hands onto the bag, and pressed down on it. The liquid flowed out of the bag and onto Abe's gloves.

Jo's eyes darted along the floor as adrenaline surged through her. Why haven't they thought of that explanation? That was much more typical of Henry.

As if he knew that Jo needed confirmation, Abe wiped his slick hands onto his suit. It wasn't a perfect match, but Abe's stain bore a very close resemblance to the one on Henry's suit.

"Mr. Wahl…" Jo jumped at the sound of Henry's voice. "What are you doing on the floor?" She turned and faced him as he noticed Abe. Confusion replaced the relief on his face. "Abe, what are you doing here?"

Jo's surging energy propelled her toward Henry. She instinctively grabbed his arm and pulled him into the part of the room that she and the rest of the team had occupied just minutes before. Amazingly, he allowed himself to follow her into the space.

When she reached one of the tables, she stopped and released his arm. She glanced at the men in the other space. Mike and Lucas were rolling up the tarpaulins while Abe pulled off his gloves and reached for some baby powder to remove the fake blood from his hands.

She faced Henry. "We know that you're innocent of Brent's death, and we can prove it."

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He then suddenly leaned back onto the table behind him. "How?"

"This re-enactment proved that you were trying to save Brent's life." She studied her…. What should she call him? They were in love with each other, but they weren't actually dating yet.

Henry's eyes darted around the room as he processed the news. She wondered what he was thinking.

She glanced at the table. As wonderful as their lead was, it still left quite a few questions unanswered. She wished that she knew how Henry and Brent had found themselves in the same apartment and why neither of them had tried to escape before Brent's death.

"Hey, Henry." Abe's cheerful voice broke through Jo's thoughts and convinced her to look at the two men. "L—Wahl had called me early this morning while I was getting dressed. He had asked me if I wanted to help out with the re-enactment. I didn't want to see you go to jail because of circumstantial evidence, so I said yes."

Henry studied his son for a moment. For a split second, Jo thought that she had seen a very small glint of paternal pride in Henry's eyes. She shook her head; it was likely her imagination and her desire to see him regain his memory.

He then bit his lower lip and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Since you're here…" He unfolded the paper and showed it to Abe. "Do we have one of these in the shop?"

Abe took the paper and scrutinized it. He wrinkled his eyebrows. "I don't think so. Maybe…" At that second, his cell phone rang. "Let me take this." He handed the paper back to Henry and stepped away from the pair to take the call.

Jo glanced at the paper and back at Henry. "May I see it?"

Henry gave her the paper. She peered at it. To her, his exquisite drawing looked like a small sword without its hilt. She inhaled as she realized that this was the blade of the murder weapon.

She looked up at him. "What is it?"

His eyes met hers, and confusion filled them. "Honestly, I don't know. I thought Abe would."

She refolded the paper and handed it back to him. A sense of sadness filled her as she realized that his memory loss was greater than what he had mentioned last night.

Abe returned to them. "Henry, I've got to go and look at some antiques. I'll see you at dinner tonight."

Henry smiled at the younger Morgan. "I'll see you then." His smile and life in his eyes dispelled Jo's sadness.

She averted her eyes for a moment. Between a couple of their cases and the problems within both the NYPD and the OCME, it had been over a month since he had started the day off in this good of a mood. She wondered if he and Abe had a long talk last night, and that helped him put things into perspective. In any case, it didn't matter what had caused his high spirits. All that she knew was that she wanted to keep him like this for a while.

She watched Abe walk out of the room. She wanted to know who had called him. It couldn't be Adam. It would be a very rare occasion for the other immortal to contact Abe, and usually it precluded another attack on Henry and his life in New York. Besides, Abe's demeanor was way too cheerful for that to be the case.

Lucas and Mike walked up to them as Abe disappeared into the hallway. Both men had changed into their regular clothes, and they seemed much more energized now.

She started to feel slightly warm in her suit. She glanced down and realized that she needed to remove it, her gloves, and her booties before she returned to the bullpen.

Lucas removed the remaining bags from the cart. "Henry, why are you here?"

"I was looking for you. I had wanted to show you something, and I couldn't see you anywhere in the morgue." He observed the young man and smiled. "Anyways, today, I want to process Gene before the CME sends over more bodies from Dr. Washington."

"Yeah, I'm good to go. I hope that neither of us will get sick from processing his body, though. It's been a while…" Lucas turned to her and followed Henry out of the room.

She smiled. It seemed as though the results of the re-enactment had given everyone—especially Abe, Henry, and her—some peace of mind.

She directed her attention toward Mike. She remembered that she had breezed past him last night. "What were you saying about surveillance footage last night?"

* * *

Mike sat down at the console and positioned the arrow on one screen over a link to a video. He glanced over his shoulder at Jo. "Last night, you were like a lioness stalking her prey. Remind me to never get you that upset."

She remembered her unwarranted anger directed at Henry. She glanced down as she regretted her feelings at the time; she should had never doubted him, not even for a moment. "I will."

To quiet her guilty conscience, she turned her attention to the screens. "What did you find?"

"I'm not sure if I'm glad that the camera near the illegal bar was facing away from the alley or if I'm frustrated that it didn't point into it."

She knitted her eyebrows together, but she decided to let Mike show her what he had meant. He clicked on the surveillance footage and fast-forwarded it to the time of William's murder. Like he had said, the camera was pointed toward the street. She exhaled an unconsciously held breath. They weren't going to see one of Henry's deaths on film today.

She leaned over his shoulder and watched the video for a few minutes. She saw someone enter the alley after leaving Suffolk and Essex. A minute later, William accessed it. Henry then went into it while on his way to work. His scarf dangled in his hand the entire time that he was in the frame, suggesting that he had been putting it on as he had rushed out the shop's door. A couple of seconds later, she watched Tim Ledford run out of the alley and toward Orchard, just like he had told her. About two and a half minutes after the other man had first appeared on the screen, he calmly sauntered out of the passageway and walk toward Suffolk and Stanton.

The man looked very familiar. "Go back to the beginning."

Mike leaned back and looked at her, but he followed her suggestion.

A second later, she pointed at the screen. "Stop!" Mike paused the video. Jo scrutinized the frame. Her jaw dropped open as she immediately recognized the man.

"Do you know him?"

"Henry and I saw him the other day when we were at NYC Business Realtors." She straightened up and looked back at one of Henry's murderers. Anger tinged with a need for justice for both William and Henry filled her. "Let's go get the warrant."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A few things about the flashback: First, the flashback in this chapter is one that had been buried deep in Henry's memory for nearly 200 years. When he had first returned home, he had mentioned this incident to Nora. Her later actions, however, had prevented him from remembering it since then. Now, the memories within the memory are very fuzzy because of Henry's amnesia.

Nithercott and Company is based on the real-life Frederick Huth & Co., a British merchant bank which was founded in 1809 and which operated independently until 1936 when it was acquired by the British Overseas Bank (now a part of the Royal Bank of Scotland). Huth & Co. was one of the first, if not the first, merchant banks to expand their operations globally. The bank initially expanded into Spain, and it had entered France by 1813. In researching for my story, I came across the bank, and I liked the idea of using Huth & Co. and its correspondents as a way to get Henry back to London—and to Nora.

As for the fake blood and how to remove it, I found the recipe on WikiHow.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note** : There are references to the pilot and "Best Foot Forward" and a line from one deleted scene from "The Night in Question" (featured on the DVDs).

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

Henry watched as Detectives Martinez and Hanson walked into the interrogation room with Oscar Cushing. In his peripheral vision, Henry could see that Lt. Reece was as interested in the man as he was.

He thought back to just a few minutes before. He and Wahl had been performing an autopsy on another corpse assigned to one of their colleagues. This time, Dr. Nate McNamara had some questions as to the cause of death of a 75-year-old man with multiple health issues. Henry and Wahl agreed to re-examine the man. They quickly discovered that none of the deceased's medical issues had caused his death, leading them to determine that he had died of old age. Henry had finished removing his gloves when Detective Martinez had found him and his assistant in Dr. McNamara's autopsy room and mentioned that he should come upstairs for the interrogation.

The door between the rooms closed shut, snapping Henry out of his thoughts. He directed his attention to the interrogation room's occupants. Both detectives sat down with their backs facing the observation room. Oscar took a seat in the same chair where Henry had sat last night.

Detective Martinez laid a file on the table, opened it slightly, and removed the photograph that the OCME had provided her. "Do you recognize this man?"

Oscar momentarily lowered his eyes and shifted his weight in the chair. "No. Why should I?"

"We have a witness placing you near Suffolk and Rivington around 8:30 AM on March 22nd."

"Your witness must be lying. I was at home eating breakfast that morning."

"Alone?"

"Yes." The man's hostile voice sent a chill down Henry's spine. "I'm single. The last that I checked, that wasn't a crime."

Detective Hanson leaned forward. "Why were you at NYC Business Realtors the other day?"

Oscar's eyes darted from detective to detective. His posture relaxed. "I'm interested in renting some retail space. I own a company specializing in imported fashion accessories, and I need the additional space for my inventory."

Detective Martinez rested her elbows on the table. "The warehouse near West 41st Street and Seventh Avenue? That one is prime property."

Their suspect suddenly grew quiet.

Detective Martinez re-opened the folder, removed a second picture, and set it on the table. Even from where he stood, Henry could tell that the black-and-white image showed Oscar entering the alley near Rivington. That must be what Detective Hanson had meant by "surveillance footage" when they had left the precinct to question witnesses at the bar.

"Why were you in the Lower East Side that day?"

Oscar suddenly leaned forward again. "I've done nothing wrong." He growled as he narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you should ask your friend why he was there."

Henry's interest piqued, and he readjusted his posture to pay closer attention to the man. Oscar certainly seemed to know something that Henry longed to remember.

"So, you're a witness?" Detective Martinez tried to hide her feelings with a measured voice. Under it, though, Henry could hear her interest and a tinge of impatience. "What did you see?"

"I had seen him only in passing. A few seconds later, I heard a gunshot. I wanted to stop, but I didn't want to get myself involved in the confrontation."

"Did you see anything unusual?"

 _Why would she ask that?_

Oscar straightened his back and looked directly at Detective Martinez. "No. Why?" Henry didn't know much about human behavior, but he was sure that Oscar was telling the truth about that.

The two detectives looked at each other. Henry wished that he knew what they were thinking.

Detective Hanson broke the silence. "Our witness saw him running toward Clinton."

Henry narrowed his eyes. The alley had no exit in that direction. When he had left the bar to see if he could jog his memory of the day that William had been murdered, Henry had stared at a wall that had cut off his view of the street. Why would Detective Hanson lie about that?

He made a fist and started to lift his arm to pound on the window. Detective Martinez's sudden reach into the folder for Brent's photograph stopped him. He lowered his arm, opened his hand, and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets.

Henry wanted to focus on the detectives' questions about Brent, but Lt. Reece appeared in his sight again. His mind began to wander. By now, she likely suspected that something was wrong with him. His rash behavior just then had confirmed it.

He sighed. In some ways, he had been enjoying the challenge and the sense of purpose that his work with the NYPD had brought. Lt. Reece might tell his superior about his actions, and they would end his involvement in their cases.

In addition, it would also affect his relationships with Detectives Martinez and Hanson. He had apparently known Detective Hanson from work, and it was through his work with them that he had fallen in love with Detective Martinez. If he was to be removed from all their cases, they might be separated by their superiors and by circumstances forever.

Lt. Reece shifted her weight, catching Henry's attention. "Detective Martinez told me—and only me—about your condition this morning."

His heart began to race. He braced himself for her next words.

"If you want to talk, my door is always open." Her somewhat gentle voice changed to a slightly more irritated one. "Just do me a favor and knock first. I don't like it when you and Detective Martinez barge into my office."

He stared at her in stunned disbelief. She was letting him stay on the team. Furthermore, she was offering her support in his time of need.

He quickly recovered his voice. "Thank you, lieutenant. I'll be sure to take you up on your offer if I need it." He then chided himself for doubting her as she had known him in the past.

She tried to keep a blank face. The corners of her mouth, however, moved up slightly to reflect her pleasure at his words.

Overwhelmed by relief, Henry turned back to the window. While they were talking, Detectives Martinez and Hanson had begun to question Oscar about Gene.

He studied his friends. As he was allowed to continue working with them, he needed to address them in a different way. The use of their professional names was too formal for more personal relationships.

He could use their surnames as that was the only ones that he knew for them. Calling Detective Hanson by his last name felt right—almost as if Henry had addressed him in that manner before.

As for using Detective Martinez's surname, it didn't seem to fit her. Henry closed his eyes and inhaled. He wished that he could remember her first name. He exhaled as he resigned himself to continuing to call her "Detective" for the time being.

The squeak of a chair jarred him and forced him to open his eyes. Detective Martinez pushed her chair under the table. She walked around the empty side of the table until Henry could see the expression on her face. Anger flared in her eyes as Oscar watched her carefully. Henry knew that, during his thoughts, their suspect had said something that warranted her scorn.

She walked back around the table, placed her hands on it, and leaned forward. "We know that you have a history of assault and battery. The district attorney would take that into consideration in sentencing. Now, tell me again. How do you know William Ashbrooke?"

Oscar leaned back and crossed his arms. "I want my lawyer."

Henry studied Detective Martinez as she picked up the four photographs, straightened them, and placed them back in the folder. His thoughts returned to his and Lt. Reece's conversation. He wondered why she had mentioned his amnesia to Lt. Reece to start with.

He glanced at the lieutenant. She had the right to know. His amnesia could cause complications in the field. If something were to go wrong during a case because of it, she needed to act quickly to ensure everyone's—including his—safety as well as to preserve the integrity of the case.

A pang of guilt hit him. Telling Lt. Reece about his amnesia was his responsibility, not Detective Martinez's. He owed the detective an apology for placing a burden on her that should had been his to carry.

His heart ached at the second possibility. He wondered if she had any friends outside of work. She likely was so busy with her job that she didn't have much of a social life. She might had felt so concerned about him that she needed to talk to someone about it, and Lt. Reece was her only option. In that case, her actions were forgivable and understandable.

The door opened, and both detectives stepped out. Hanson clutched the folder that Detective Martinez had. She eyed Oscar warily before turning to him and to Lt. Reece. "Oscar doesn't know anything about Brent and Gene. I'm positive that he's William's killer." She started to say something else but stopped the second that her eyes met Henry's. "We'll get the warrant to search his apartment for the gun used to kill William."

Lt. Reece looked at him. "Has ballistics said anything about the bullet yet?"

 _Nuts! I almost forgot about that._ "The report came in a few minutes before Mr. Wahl and I joined Dr. McNamara in his autopsy room. I'm sorry; I should had mentioned it earlier." He paused. "They had identified the bullet as being from a .38-caliber gun. That should help you."

Lt. Reece looked at them. "Let's nail this jerk." With that, she exited the room. Hanson handed the folder back to Detective Martinez and turned his attention back to Oscar.

It was time for him to return to the OCME. As Henry fell in behind the lieutenant, he took one last look at Oscar sitting in the interrogation room. It seemed as though Margaret would now receive justice for William's murder. Henry hoped that he now could do the same for Brent's and Gene's families.

* * *

A couple of seconds later, Detective Martinez joined his side. "I take it that she told you that I mentioned your condition to her."

He turned his head to her. She appeared to blame herself for whatever reaction that he would have. "You did the right thing. I should have told her sooner, and I'm sorry for placing you in that position."

He observed her expression. From what he could tell, her mind was no longer on her decision and his duty. Instead, she was still processing what he had told her last night. He was content to walk in silence for as long as she wanted if it would help her.

A couple of moments later, she sighed and turned to him. "This hasn't been easy for you."

All of the pain that he had felt so far caught him and threatened to pull him into its current. "No, it hasn't—." He blinked several times to stop his thoughts. This was neither the time nor the place to think about it.

Unfortunately, his efforts failed as his memories of the week came back to him against his will. To his surprise, though, every memory of their time together so far, even the difficult times, comforted him.

"However, you have been making it easier to bear." The words rushed out of his mouth before he could consider what he was saying.

They reached the elevators, and he pushed both buttons in case she was going upstairs for the warrant. He turned back to her and looked deep into her brown eyes for her response.

Suddenly, everything around him vanished—save her. His plans for the day and his concerns were no longer in his mind. All that mattered was being here with her.

Henry stood in breathless wonder at the woman before him. Her strength, compassion, patience, integrity, intelligence, beauty, and love made her priceless among women. He was so unworthy of it, but he felt honored to have the opportunity and the privilege to see her as the precious treasure that she was.

As she was entrusted to him, it was his responsibility to care for her. No, responsibility meant that he owed her a debt where none existed. Instead, it was his desire to show her and the world how extraordinary she was.

He longed to know how he could demonstrate that. In the next moment, he knew how. For the rest of his life, his heart belonged to her and he would do anything for her.

As he took a needed breath and continued enjoying her presence, a loud _ding_ yanked his attention away from her. He took a moment to regain his bearings, and he realized that they were still at the elevators. He looked up at the lights over them. His heart sank. Unfortunately, for him, his car to the morgue had arrived.

He finally looked at her face. Her eyes were slightly moistened, and she broke her gaze. She moved her mouth several times, but nothing came out. Finally, she regained her ability to speak. "I'm glad to hear that."

The door opened, and he reluctantly stepped into the car. He heard Detective Martinez behind him. "I'll see you later."

He turned to face her and pushed the button for the OCME. The doors began to quickly close. He gave her one last look and half-heartedly waved as the doors closed shut.

As the car descended, he thought back to the look on her face a few seconds earlier. She had looked disappointed that he had to leave her side. Because of her displeasure and her soft voice, he had desperately wanted to gaze into her eyes again just so he could remain with her.

To his surprise, the memory of her eyes caused him to lose all focus on his thoughts. He blinked several times and shook his head. He was at work, and Detective Martinez still had a killer to catch. Furthermore, she needed to find the gun that Oscar used in William's murder and to transfer Oscar to jail.

In the meantime, he wished for some way to see her outside of work. Their shared look had begun to awaken something deep inside of him. He knew that it was only a matter of time before whatever it was manifested itself fully. As they both had to maintain their careers, he needed a more appropriate place for the manifestation to occur.

The elevator stopped, and Henry impulsively reached over to push the button for the precinct's floor. He, however, dropped his arm as the doors opened, revealing his place of work. He hesitantly stepped out of the car. In the distance, he could see Wahl moving Gene's body onto the autopsy table. At that moment, Henry regained the ability to speak and his desire to continue his work.

Henry walked through the room and to his office. He stole a glance at Gene's body as he snatched his lab coat off his chair. He and Wahl had one more body to autopsy for Hanson and Detective Martinez's cases. After that, then Henry could think of a way to spend more time with Detective Martinez.

* * *

Jo stared at the elevator doors which had just closed between her and Henry. She willed them to open so that she could go to the morgue and tell Henry that he could spend the rest of the day with her if it would help him.

She blinked, and looked around her. She hadn't been like this before. When had her feelings toward him become so strong?

It had to be today. In order to find some answers, her thoughts returned to earlier in the day. When she and Mike had returned to the bullpen to get the warrant for Oscar's arrest, Lt. Reece had called Jo into her office and asked Jo whether Henry was okay. Jo took a deep breath and told her about his amnesia. At that second, she remembered how scared he was to tell her and Abe, and she felt as though she had betrayed him.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm Jo the second that she had seen Henry in the observation room. She pushed it aside to focus on the questioning. After Oscar commented that William had no right to the warehouse, she walked around the room. When she reached one spot in the room where the mirror became a window, she caught a glimpse of Henry. Judging from his expression, she knew that Lt. Reece had mentioned her visit to him. Jo wanted to apologize to him and to let him know the full story, so she caught up to him as he left the room. To her amazement, his comments and his taking responsibility for not telling Lt. Reece reassured her that she hadn't betrayed him.

She spent a moment trying to imagine what it had been like for him over the past week. He likely felt that he had no family or friends who cared about him, no work to return to, and no place to call home when he had first woken up. As the days passed, he found himself on an emotional rollercoaster as he learned about his life and his surroundings. She imagined what it was like for him to hear the details of his life for what he believed was the first time. The pain of trying to remember everything but couldn't. The ecstasy of learning something that he had previously known. The frustration of simultaneously trying to interact with everyone and figuring out how they belonged in his life. Being a murder suspect only complicated things.

She knew that he needed to talk about it, so she brought it up. He quickly agreed with her assessment of the situation. Then, he stunned her with his comment about her enabling him to endure it. She was speechless; she hadn't realized how much their time together had meant to him.

A moment later, he looked into her eyes, and she suddenly found herself gazing into his. Her work and her worries no longer mattered. Only the fact that he was here with her did.

She marveled at the man before her. He was so full of compassion, patience, strength, courage, curiosity, concern for his fellow man, and love. As much as others had tried to kill it, he also had integrity, a spirit of adventure, and a great appreciation for and joy of life. Since she had first met him, she had been fortunate to see him as the remarkable gift that he was.

She wanted to care for him, to prove to him that he was special to her, and to show the world how wonderful he was. In that moment, she discovered that her heart was his forever, and she would do anything for him.

As she enjoyed his company, a bell interrupted them for the second time in their relationship. This one told her that it was for an elevator going to the morgue. She looked at Henry for another moment before she broke her gaze. She knew that he was still waiting for a response. She couldn't think of anything, and the first words that she had thought of didn't express how much she wanted to completely take away the burden of his amnesia. His heartbroken departure had led her to this moment.

She inhaled. Their look just then had intensified her feelings toward him. She stopped her thoughts; their looks hadn't been like this before. During the first one, she had walked into the shop, and she had wanted to tell Henry that she wanted to go to Paris with him. Initially, he looked as though he was processing her words. When he looked into her eyes, she thought that he felt the same way about her. Unfortunately, Abe had interrupted them before she had had the chance to find out if that was true.

She thought about her mindset then and for each shared look after that. At times, she had thought about what a relationship with him would look like. On other occasions, she had hoped that he would fulfill some desire of hers. Sometimes, she had wondered what he was thinking and how it would impact her. A few times, she wanted to know what it was like to touch him in a romantic way. Looking back now, if she had realized his importance in her life then, the resulting relationship wouldn't have lasted because of her selfishness.

This shared look, however, was different for the both of them. It was stirring up something deep inside of her that was both familiar and strange at the same time. Simultaneously, based on his silence afterward and his reluctance to leave her, it had quite the emotional impact on Henry as well.

Jo's mouth opened as she realized the implications. She had wanted to wait until Henry regained his memory for them to begin a relationship. If what had just happened was any indication, their relationship would start soon —if it hadn't right now.

She still wanted to let Henry know that he could stay with her through the day. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped through them and pushed the button for the OCME. After the doors closed, the elevator suddenly jerked up. Something wasn't right. She looked up and saw that the elevators was going upstairs.

She burst into laughter at herself. With her total focus on Henry, she had forgotten that she needed to go to her desk to call about the warrant. Fortunately, the elevator stopped on the next floor. She got out and headed for the stairs.

As she descended down the stairs, she bit her lower lip as she remembered the reason why he had pushed the button—his amnesia. Admittedly, his memory loss had changed him into a different person. He was much quieter than usual, more studious, more submissive, more formal, and less impulsive.

She bit her lower lip. Which Henry Morgan did she share that look with: the one she's known between her first trip to the OCME and his disappearance nearly two weeks ago or the one who had no idea who he was?

She suddenly heard his voice tell her that he was pretty much the same man that she saw. She stopped on the step and closed her eyes to shut out the forming tears. Within her first week of knowing that he was immortal, she had asked him what he was like 200 years before. He gave her a couple of examples from his mortal past. She was so surprised by the similarities between Henry back then and Henry at that moment that she had commented that it had seemed like he hadn't changed much over the years. What she had heard was his response.

She opened her eyes at the growing realization. Even with amnesia, Henry was essentially the same man that she had known since the moment she had heard him call the train engineer lucky. The man himself had endured 238 years of changes to the world and to his life, and, as long as he maintained a sense of his humanity, would weather millennia more. It was the man himself whom she had given her heart to.

She sighed. Henry was still missing his past and almost everything that he had picked up over the years. They weren't him, but his past and his knowledge helped to explain why his personality traits could be so intense at times and why he sometimes seemed so different from everyone else. She wished that she knew of a way to remind him of both.

She reached the door to her floor. The memory of their shared look rushed back, and she started to think about how wonderful he was.

The door swung opened, jarring her out of her state. She stepped back to avoid it. As two unis passed her, their walk restored her desire to return to work.

She walked through the door and toward her desk. Both she and Henry still had several cases to close. She needed to find Brent's and Gene's killers and to locate Oscar's gun in his apartment. At that moment, Henry might have the opportunity to finally autopsy Gene and to determine his cause of death. As she reached her desk, she picked up her phone and began on the one that she had needed to do first: get the warrant to search Oscar's apartment for the gun that he used to kill both William and Henry. After that, she could have some time to find a way to be with Henry and to jog his memory.

* * *

"So, Ray picks up the tea pot as Arty talks about how they would resale the entire set for $1,500. The tea pot slips out of Ray's hands, and it shatters all over the floor!"

Henry almost choked on his last bite of spaghetti. He grabbed his glass of wine and washed down the errant piece. "That's quite unfortunate. I can't imagine paying $1,000 for porcelain only to have that happen."

"Oh, it gets worse." Abe laughed as he reveled in telling about his nemesis' just rewards. "I looked at it before the auction. It wasn't a mid-1800s English majolica tea set; it was a recent reproduction worth $25."

As wrong as it felt, Henry started chuckling. From the way that Abe told the story of today's auction, the Berkowitz brothers were hasty in their appraisals, as Abe had called the pricing of antiques, today.

"Did you find anything today?" Henry finished his last sip of wine and began collecting the dirty dishes.

Abe rose and joined him in the task. He glanced at the plate in front of him; a brief hint of sadness crossed his eyes. "I found a couple of English silver trays form the 1700s. I don't recognize the crests, and I would like to know more about the families." A couple of seconds later, Abe finished stacking the dishes and started to limp toward the sink.

Henry wrinkled his eyebrows. When did Abe develop sciatica? The body that he had helped Dr. McNamara autopsy flashed in his mind, and Henry realized that he didn't know Abe's age. If he was in his sixties or seventies, then Henry could enjoy Abe's company for a while. If Abe was in his eighties or nineties—. Henry swallowed as he began to think that his relationship with Abe was possibly on borrowed time and that he should enjoy their time together while it lasted.

Henry brought his stack of dishes to Abe. "Do you want me to help you with the dishes?"

"Nah. I've been sitting down too long today." Abe took the dishes. "Thanks, though."

Henry was a little skeptical of the cause of Abe's attack of sciatica today. According to Abe, the auction lasted only an hour, and carrying two silver trays wouldn't cause that much pain. He must had lifted something that was too heavy for him. Seeing that Abe was confident in his health, though, Henry left the dishes with him and turned toward the living room.

"How was your day after I left the OCME?"

Henry smiled as he turned back toward Abe. Today, everything went well—for once. He decided to start with his first closed case. "Detective Martinez—"

He suddenly lost his train of thought. All he could think about was that he longed to know how he could spend more time with her as his company gave her pleasure.

"Henry?"

He jumped at the familiar masculine voice. He looked toward it and felt his face flush as he noticed a bemused Abe turning off the running water. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking."

He needed to rephrase his story. "There was an arrest in William Ashbrooke's murder, and they had found the murder weapon. There were two shots fired, but Oscar Cushing, the suspect, believed that one of the bullets had missed William."

"That's great! Now, William's widow can get some closure."

Henry remembered Margaret's hug and thanks after he signed William's death certificate and handed her a copy. "I suppose so." He sighed. "I wish that I could say the same for Gene Tomberlin. Mr. Wahl and I finally autopsied him today. We're unable to definitely determine his cause of death as his organs had showed signs of advanced decomposition."

"How advanced?"

"Mr. Wahl and I continuously monitored each other for signs of illness or fainting. Fortunately, though, neither of us had become ill during the autopsy, and we had been able to retrieve some of the organs to analyze."

Henry could hear Abe begin to wash the dishes. "I looked through the shop today, and I didn't see any blades like the one you drew. It would be next to impossible to know what it is without knowing what the hilt looks like."

Henry glanced over at Abe. He was an antiques dealer. Surely, he would know someone who specialized in weapons. Seeing that Abe wasn't interested in pursuing the issue for now, Henry decided to drop the topic.

He walked into the living room and thought about their dinner. Tonight, his meal with Abe was exactly what he had imagined a family meal to be like—delicious food and an enjoyable conversation with the people whom one cared about.

A golden glint caught his eye. He walked over and discovered that it belonged to a picture frame on the mantle. He studied the black-and-white photograph in it. Two creases in the middle of the photograph had removed minute flakes of paper, suggesting that someone had carried it in his or her pocket.

The blonde-haired woman in the photograph caught his attention. Although Detective Martinez was hot, the pictured woman was quite lovely to look at. Judging from her expression, she was the proud mother of the child in her arms. The only unusual thing about her was that she was dressed in unfamiliar clothes that looked as though they belonged in a different era.

A dark spot to the right of her hat drew his eye. He looked at what it belonged to and sharply inhaled.

It was his own face staring back at him.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head. It couldn't be true. He wasn't that old. Why was his face in the photograph?

He looked back into the kitchen and watched Abe rinse the dishes. The older man had called him "Dad" and had said that he had a long life. Detective Martinez had asked a murder suspect about any unusual happenings at the time he witnessed William's murder. Hanson had lied about the layout of the neighborhood. Henry had a known history of naked sleepwalking, and the river was his destination during every instance. He had an unexplained scar over his heart from something that should had killed him had the cause of the scar penetrated his chest. There were two different stories about his life, both which seemed to be true. Now, this photograph added to Henry's confusion.

Henry took a deep breath as he turned back to his image.

 _What is going on here?!_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** When I originally planned this story, I had wanted to stop it here and to write the remainder as a sequel. I ultimately decided against it because of the flow.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note** : This chapter starts one second after the end of chapter 18.

There are references to the pilot, "Look Before You Leap", "The Ecstasy of Agony", "Social Engineering", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

Henry examined the photograph. There _had_ to be a perfectly logical explanation for everything. Unfortunately, the only thing that made sense was the naked sleepwalking, and that was just barely.

For most of the unusual comments, he could easily think of some possibilities for their existence. The detectives were trying different ways to get a confession out of Oscar. Abe could had called Henry an "old soul" in the past, and "Dad" and Abe's comment about Henry having a long life were their way of acknowledging his traditional worldview. The story that he had told Detective Martinez about his life contained inaccurate information that he needed to correct.

He looked back to his face in the photograph. If the clothes were from a different era, then could he be looking at a picture of his grandparents and one parent? His heart sank. That was unlikely. With the exception of identical twins, the combination of facial features varied, sometimes significantly, in families. His own facial features matched the ones of the man in the photograph _perfectly_.

His eyes drifted to the woman and child. Another prospect existed: the woman was his wife. She could had suggested the unusual photograph, and a friend might had agreed to take it. One of them, likely, he, had carried it in his or her pocket until they had decided to frame it. With that option, he felt himself beginning to relax.

Henry reached out to take the frame off the mantle when his hand brushed something. A gray urn with a golden band around its widest point sat next to it. He sharply inhaled. The urn held her ashes. Although he didn't know who she was, he could feel a sense of deep loss and grief rising in him.

He wondered if he and Detective Martinez—

He felt himself losing focus again. He willed himself to continue the thought. He must not allow the unexpected grief over his wife's death to overwhelm him.

The loss of his wife was possibly something that he had discussed with Detective Martinez on several occasions. As she had lost her husband, she understood his grief and provided compassion toward him. If his loss had happened at the same time as his work with the NYPD, then he likely had allowed only Abe and Detective Martinez to see him mourn his wife's death. To his surprise, the scenario felt like it happened.

He wished that he could remember his wife's name. Was she the mysterious Jo? The unexpected idea didn't sound right. For starters, Jo didn't seem to fit the blond-haired wife and mother. Also, Abe had been using the present tense to describe Jo—a living person with whom Abe had interacted with recently.

Henry stopped himself. Why was he trying to connect both Detective Martinez and his late wife to Jo? Henry hadn't met the woman yet. Why was learning her identity important to him?

He suddenly remembered that he had been curious about her since the day he had left Bellevue. All that he knew about her was that she had known him and Abe for a while, Abe had told her about his hospitalization, that Abe had thought that Henry would had seen her at Gene's apartment, that her work kept her busy, and that he usually could talk to her about anything. The woman who most closely matched that description was Detective Martinez. It couldn't be her, though; no one at work had mentioned her first name. In the meantime, Abe had never mentioned Jo's occupation—or her surname.

He glanced away from the photograph. If he wanted to enjoy the rest of his evening with Abe, he should put off his search for Jo and for the names of both his wife and Detective Martinez for the time being.

He inhaled. He could explain everything unusual about himself—with the exception of the scar on his chest. So far, the small amount of research that he had conducted had yielded few answers, and none of them fit what he had seen. Would others know more about it?

Henry bit his lower lip in thought. Wahl had mentioned Internet research earlier today when they had autopsied Gene. Maybe he could find information on the scar there.

He turned and noticed Abe settling on the sofa with a book on his hand. "Abe, do we have a computer?"

"Yeah." His voice was tentative as he wrinkled his eyebrows. "Why did you ask?"

At that second, Henry realized that he could use it for the case as well. "I want to see if anyone on the Internet knows about our mysterious blade."

Abe then smiled and guffawed. "Why didn't I think of that?!" He quickly laid his book on the end table behind him and rose from his seat. "Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks."

As Abe slowly walked toward the bedrooms, Henry's heart ached. He hated to see Abe suffer more pain than what he already was in. Yet, he was quite eager to go along with Henry's suggestion.

Henry thought back to the day Detective Martinez showed him how to shut down Wahl's computer. It dawned on him that this was his first time asking if he could use one, and Abe wanted to see it. If it would bring his roommate some enjoyment, then the request was worth it. In the meantime, Henry hoped that he could get some of the answers that he needed—both to solve the case and to solve one of his personal mysteries.

* * *

A minute later, Abe reentered the kitchen with something in his hand. Curious, Henry joined his side at the table. Abe lifted the top portion. To Henry's surprise, Abe had a more portable version of Wahl's work computer. Henry watched as Abe turned it on.

"What's your first theory, a knife, a dagger, or a sword?" Abe did something to change the screen.

Abe didn't need to know what else he was looking for. "If you don't mind, I would like to search for the information myself."

Abe turned to him and gave him a curious look. "Since when did you learn how to use a computer?"

"Detective Martinez—." The impulse to think about her was so strong that he willingly gave into it.

As he wondered what her favorite things were, Henry sensed something moving in front of his face. He blinked and noticed Abe lowering his hand.

"Enough said." With a smile, Abe offered Henry a seat in the chair in front of the older man.

Henry sat down and looked at the computer. The keyboard and the screen looked a little different from Wahl's work computer. Furthermore, Abe didn't have a mouse.

Perhaps letting Abe search for the information about the blade was a good idea. Then again, maybe not. He wouldn't be able to research his other questions if he did.

He thought back to Detective Martinez's lesson. If he gave up now, then there was a very good possibility that he would be like his parents, afraid of whatever technological changes that the future would hold. He was already behind when it came to computers; he couldn't imagine how he would cope in the future if reading books and writing by hand ceased to exist.

 _Here goes…._ He studied the icons on the screen. Most of them were what Detective Martinez had called office tools. Skype was familiar; Henry wanted to say that it was used for phone calls.

Finally, he found one with the words "Internet browser". He wondered how he was to access the Internet with it. He glanced down and noticed that his right hand rested on the large spot near the bottom of the keyboard—like he had used it before.

Was it an ingrained skill? To test his theory, he ignored his hand movements and focused on watching the arrow on the screen. He whooped and chuckled as the arrow moved to his desired destination and the screen turned white.

"Are you okay?" Abe's voice beckoned to Henry.

Grinning, he turned to his roommate and pointed at the screen. "I opened the browser!"

Henry turned back to the screen. On it were the words, "You are not connected to the Internet".

His glee suddenly faded. "Um, what does this mean?"

Abe leaned over and looked at the screen. "Oops! Let me show you how to get online." Following Abe's instructions, Henry soon found the icon and turned on the Internet.

A couple of seconds later, a series of black boxes flashed in the lower-right corner of the screen. He tried to read what was written in them. Abe suddenly stepped in front of Henry and took over operations. For a moment, Henry was afraid that Abe wouldn't let him use the computer anymore.

Abe stopped and turned to him. "Sorry about that." His cheeks flushed. "Fawn sent me a few e-mails. If you see another notification, ignore it!" He then stepped aside. "Have at it."

Henry softly chuckled. He couldn't blame Abe for his secrecy. He felt the same way about the private moments between him and Detective Martinez. _Such as today's—_. Henry blinked to keep his focus on his mission.

Henry looked back at the screen and saw a box in the middle of it. Strangely, he could almost remember someone typing in a box just like it. He reached over the keys and pressed one. Suddenly, the screen froze.

"What happened?" Henry touched the mouse pad and moved his hand, but nothing happened.

Abe rejoined Henry. Henry reluctantly relinquished control of the computer. Abe tapped on the mouse pad and pushed a button.

Abe looked down at Henry. "Are you sure that you don't want me to search for the information for you?"

"I can't spend the rest of my life avoiding the Internet. I need to learn how to use it. Now would be an excellent time to learn."

Abe raised his eyebrows, and he looked at the laptop and at Henry. "If you say so. I'm here if you need me." With that, he stepped away and returned to the living room.

Henry repositioned his hand over the mouse and tapped it. Gratefully, Abe had restored the computer to normal operations.

He moved the arrow into the box and clicked on it. He looked down at the keyboard and found the letters and numbers which corresponded with the description and the dimensions of the blade. As he typed, it seemed as though he was taking a long time to accomplish the task.

He muttered, "I must be the slowest typist ever." He wrinkled his eyebrows at an apparent faint echo from his past. He inhaled to keep himself calm. Maybe typing lessons would improve his speed.

A second later, he saw a screen reading "search results". He noticed a number and stared at it. He didn't realize that there were that many people who knew about the blade. He would never get through the pages. Reading the results revealed that the number didn't represent the number of experts on the topic; it was the number of pages with any of the words on it.

Was there a way to narrow the results? He hated to bother Abe again; he might stop the search completely. Henry bit his lower lip and typed the words "how to narrow Internet search results" into the box. Fortunately, he found a page with excellent information and read it.

Wanting to try his new skill, he went back to the last page with the search box on it and retyped his request using the tips that he had just learned. They had narrowed the results, but not as much as he would had liked. He swallowed and read several pages. There were many interesting knives and swords, but nothing looked like the type of knife that he had sketched.

Discouraged, he leaned back in the chair. He wanted to find a similar blade so he could tell Detective Martinez what their murder weapon was. Yet, he couldn't see anything like it. He sighed. Like Abe had mentioned, without the hilt, it was nearly impossible to know what it was. If they wanted more information about the blade, they needed to try another avenue—if the information existed.

He wanted to give up using the Internet altogether; it seemed futile. A look at the mantle reminded him of the real reason that he was online. Maybe someone had the key to his past. He leaned forward and decided to try again.

* * *

He first typed in the description of his scar. He looked through the results and became disappointed by the large number of results for the individual words and phrases. He then searched for agelessness, naked sleepwalking, and rivers as he was curious about them. He discovered some fascinating information on the traditional views of immortality and fountains of youth, but he couldn't find anything unusual about naked sleepwalking. Nor could he find any information that linked all three together into one syndrome.

He then bit his lower lip. Someone probably knew who he was. He typed his name into the box. Surprisingly, there weren't as many results for his name as there had been for any of his other searches. He looked through some sites. He immediately dismissed them as they were links to various commercial background check companies. He took a glance at another result and burst into laughter. He certainly was _not_ a Welsh-born pirate who lived in the 1600s.

There were still too many results to look through tonight. He narrowed the results by using London as the additional criteria.

One link on the new page suddenly looked interesting, and he clicked on it. The image of a newspaper page appeared on the screen. The headlines read that a doctor had saved a young boy from a fire in 1865. The drawing in the center of the page drew his attention. He nearly jumped when he saw his face; the only things that was different about him in the sketch were his clothes and his hairstyle. Having no desire to have his night with Abe ruined by _two_ confusing pictures, he immediately went back to the previous page.

He found something fascinating in a summary further down the page. A Henry Morgan had immigrated to Ellis Island in 1946. He clicked on it, and his jaw dropped when he immediately recognized his handwriting on the screen. Like the previous link, he went back as fast as he could to maintain his relatively good mood.

He clicked on a third link, and music and a voice filled the air. He looked into the living room and hoped that Abe wasn't listening to it. Fortunately, Abe was nowhere to be seen; he had to go to the bathroom. A second later, a man's voice began telling of the story of a PFC Hemecker, an American soldier who had fought on D-Day. The narrator, the soldier's son, mentioned that a British doctor had been hit with an artillery shell while saving Hemecker's life. Henry heard a flush and quickly left the site before he learned what had happened to the soldier after that day.

Another link was a church baptismal record from September 26, 1779. Henry marveled at finding a record from that far in the distant past. The page didn't have any relevant information, so he returned to his results.

The contents of the next link took his breath away. It was a picture of a tombstone in a public cemetery in London. The granite headstone, darkened and mostly eroded, miraculously withstood the effects of time so that it could serve as a physical reminder of the grave's occupant. The etching was barely legible, but he could still read it.

He sharply inhaled as he read, "Henry Morgan. Born September 19, 1779. Died April 7, 1814". His namesake was born exactly 200 years before he was, and he had died over 200 years ago next Wednesday. Henry felt an inexplicable connection to the man. He instinctively reached up and ran a finger over the screen.

Henry wished that he could go back in time and meet the gentleman. Who was the late Henry Morgan? What was he like? What did he do for a living? What were his parents and siblings like? What happened to them, and how did it affect him? What did he care about? Was he a good man, or did he commit reprehensible acts and tried to justify them as normal practices? Did he ever marry and have children? What was his home life like? Did he have any other descendants? Was _he_ a descendant of this man?

The late Henry Morgan was just 35—almost the living one's age of 38—when he died. What had caused his untimely death? Was it an accident? Was he an unfortunate victim of some epidemic that was devastating London at the time? Did _someone_ kill him? If so, who killed him and why? Was his murderer ever arrested and brought to justice? Did his family mourn his death?

What would had happened if he had lived? What else could he had done with his life? Would he have adventures or dedicate himself to causes after he retired from his occupation? If he was married, would his death or his wife's end the marriage? If his wife died before him or had left him, how did he cope with the loss? What type of legacy did he leave behind? Was there evidence of his legacy today?

Henry closed his eyes. Even though he was still alive, many of the questions about his namesake's life and even death could apply to him as well. Maybe they were why he had felt a kinship with the deceased.

He sighed. There was no way that he could discover more about the man tonight; his heart wasn't into a search like that. Henry opened his eyes and ran his finger over his namesake's name one more time before returning to his search.

* * *

Henry stared at the screen. His online research was surprisingly enjoyable because of the types of information that he had found, and he wasn't ready to surrender the laptop for the night. What else could he look up?

He thought back to the first daydream that he had in Bellevue. He didn't know of anyone who used the word "breeches", and he wanted to be certain that they were pants. He typed in the word, and another screen came up. He narrowed his eyes at one result and clicked on the link. To his pleasant surprise, it led to an online encyclopedia. After he eagerly read the article, he clicked on a blue-colored phrase and found another article.

Some time later, he felt an intense ache in his neck and shoulders as he read an article. He immediately knew that he had been sitting in an awkward position for a long period of time, and he sensed that he needed to give up his online research for the night. He reluctantly followed Detective Martinez's instructions on how to shut down a computer and closed it.

He reached over to a shoulder to rub it. Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. He cringed, pulled away, and turned his head to see who was behind him. He exhaled when he saw Abe standing there.

Abe's advanced age and his own physical pain eliminated all of Henry's resistance to his roommate's gesture. Henry dutifully turned around and faced the living room. The next moment, he felt Abe apply pressure to his shoulders. As Abe rubbed them, the pain in Henry's sore body began to ease. A couple of minutes later, Henry started to relax. Abe's skilled hands told of years of practice in easing a person's physical and emotional tension.

Henry's mind drifted back to the tombstone that he had seen and to the questions that he had about his namesake—and himself. All of his questions about himself seemed connected to each other.

"I wish that I could remember my life."

"Don't worry; it'll come back." Abe continued his massage. The rhythmic motions of Abe's hands prevented any more thoughts from forming in Henry's mind. In the next few seconds, he felt his tension melt away and his eyes close. A state of near sleep suddenly overwhelmed him, and he unhesitatingly surrendered himself to it.

Time passed. Suddenly, Abe stopped. "Feeling better?"

Wishing that he didn't have to leave his slumber, Henry reluctantly opened his eyes at the sound of Abe's voice. He remained still for a moment. He couldn't feel any more pain in his neck and shoulders, and he was much more relaxed.

He smiled as he turned around and looked up toward Abe. "Yes. Thank you."

Henry wanted to ask him where he had learned how to give a massage, but he abruptly stopped. Abe's rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed a blue numerical tattoo on his right forearm. That was new to him. Henry stared at it for a moment, and his smile faded. "Where did you get your tattoo?"

He finally looked up at Abe. The older man was lost in thought for a moment. Finally, he solemnly answered, "Auschwitz." He paused. "It's a good thing that I don't remember any of my experiences there. I don't know what I would do if I could."

 _Auschwitz?_ A few facts about World War II came back. Henry's eyes widened as he realized that Abe had been sent to the death camp as a youth and that he had likely lost his parents and any siblings there.

He mentioned that he didn't remember any of his time there. Childhood memories usually formed about the age of three and a half years old—.

Henry's stomach immediately churned at the thought of the Nazis tattooing a toddler—or even a defenseless infant who was born in the camp—separating him from his family before killing them, and assigning him a death sentence. How could a human justify treating a very young child in that manner because of the child's ethnicity or his parents' religion? Anger rose up in Henry. If he were alive back then, he would harm the men who had caused Abe to suffer so much pain and loss.

Henry looked back up at his roommate, and the anger subsided. The fact that Abe was standing before him alive and well-adjusted meant only one thing. He had miraculously escaped death then, and he had received the care of a couple who had clearly loved him even if he wasn't their own. Henry longed to know who Abe's adoptive parents were so that he could thank them, even posthumously, for giving him a remarkable roommate.

He thought for a moment. Actually, it meant two things. Abe's birth had occurred between 73 and 76 years ago. A quick glance at Abe revealed that his only physical concerns were sciatica and glaucoma. Henry let out a sigh of relief. He had the opportunity to enjoy Abe's company without worrying about Abe's impending death, and he had time to learn more about his roommate.

Henry's curiosity got the better of him. "How did you survive the camp?"

Abe hesitated. "Honestly, my adoptive parents never found out, and I don't know. We've always considered it to be a miracle."

"Who adopted you?"

Abe became silent for a moment. He sighed. "It's a long story."

 _What does he mean by that?_ Henry glanced away to keep Abe from seeing his confusion.

 _Henry stood in the open doorway, holding something in his hand. The man behind him, once stern, now offered his support. He looked back at the woman standing in front of him. She waited patiently for a response. Her eyes pleaded for him to tell her everything about the object in his hand and about himself._

 _He sighed. "It's a long story." As he stepped aside to let her into the building, he hoped that she would believe him._

An ache in his side and his shoulder ended the flash and threatened to undo Abe's work. Henry rose from his seat so that he could sit in the living room and face Abe.

As he pushed the chair under the table, Henry blinked several times in disbelief. The sudden hazy image was more detailed than the ones that he had seen earlier when William's body had entered his autopsy room and when he had recalculated Gene's time of death. In a way, the latest one was almost like his memory of William's death.

He knew that Abe stood behind him. Henry couldn't dwell on the latest flash for too long. Abe might suspect that something was physically wrong with him. He straightened up and turned to his roommate. "Well, I would like to hear it." He then walked into the living room.

Abe followed closely behind him. "A British doctor and a British nurse had adopted me. We moved to the United States when I was just an infant."

As they sat down in the chairs near the fireplace, Henry wanted to ask Abe what happened to his parents. A look of sadness filled Abe's face, and it stopped Henry from asking his question. The events surrounding his parents' lives and deaths were still affecting Abe many years later. Perhaps that was a story for another time.

That last thought was another apparent faint echo from his past. Henry wished for a way to take his mind off of the recent sources of confusion.

Abe shifted his weight in the chair. "What did you find out about the blade?"

Relieved about the change in topic, Henry placed his hand behind his head for a moment. "Honestly, not much. Like you have stated, we need to know what the hilt looks like before we can determine the nature of the object."

Abe glanced down and nodded. Then, he looked up and grinned. "What was like being online for the first time?"

Henry smiled. "I can see the appeal. I wouldn't mind going online again in the near future." He grew quiet as he remembered the tombstone that he had seen. Researching his namesake would be his next online task—when his heart was into starting a search for the gentleman.

"I noticed that you were on Wikipedia when I needed a brief walk to relieve my sciatica. The 2015 Rugby World Cup finals?"

Wikipedia? That was the online encyclopedia. "It looked interesting." He leaned his head back and chuckled. "I don't think that I can tell you how I found the article." He looked over at Abe and grinned.

The pain in his shoulder started to ease. He remembered the massage. "Where did you learn how to give a massage?"

Abe opened his mouth and then chuckled. "It took you long enough. I was sure that you would never ask." Before Henry could ask for a clarification, Abe pressed on. "One of my girlfriends from my days at Berkeley taught me. The first time that I saw you feeling tense, I decided that it was worth a shot. Why did you ask?"

Henry quickly thought of a reason. "I want to know how to give one in case I noticed that Detective Martinez needed it."

For some reason, Abe's smile grew wider. "In that case, I'll teach you."

The two men grew quiet for a moment. Abe finally broke the silence. "I haven't told you about the time…"

* * *

A couple of hours later, Abe became fatigued from his day and retired to his bedroom for the night. Henry wanted to hear more about Abe's days at Berkeley and his service during the Vietnam War, but he reluctantly told the older man good night so that he could get his rest. As he watched Abe shuffle into the kitchen and remove his laptop from the table, Henry smiled. Abe was so thrilled to tell his stories, almost as if it were the first time that he could share them with anyone. Henry was glad to give his roommate that pleasure.

He sat back in the chair and listened to the ticking clock on the mantle behind him. He suddenly yawned. It was time for him to go to bed as well.

When he reached his bedroom, he stripped his dress clothes off. Today was the first day where he had been completely comfortable around Abe. Throughout the day, Henry had felt a kinship with the older man. He was grateful for Abe's support, care, and camaraderie, and Henry found himself responding in kind. In addition, he felt an unexpected need to protect Abe from all harm. Henry smiled even more as he realized that, today, he had "adopted" Abe as family.

He removed a t-shirt from the drawers. As he closed it, his scar's reflection in the mirror caught his attention. Every bit of relaxation and happiness that he felt promptly vanished. He had gained a family today, but he still had a very large number of questions about his life.

He slipped the t-shirt over his head, walked over to the bed, and pulled down the covers. He laid down on the bed. The two unexplained pictures of him returned to his mind, and he suddenly felt wide awake.

He tossed and turned in an attempt to stop his thoughts so he could get some sleep. The memory of the drawing refused to let him settle down for the night. He sighed as he rolled onto his back again. He needed to give up the notion of sleep for the time being.

It had been 153 years since the picture was sketched. In it, he looked no older than 35. Assuming that it was his age at the time of the incident, then he was 188 years old.

That was impossible. The average human life expectancy was only 78 years, and the longest that a human had been known to live was only 122 years. To be much older than that, and to appear ageless at the same time, implied immortality. From what he read tonight, though, immortality was just a spiritual and a philosophical concept which stated that one continued living in some form of an afterlife after his or her physical death. To be immortal and to remain alive in this world was only a component of many legends from around the world. If the legends contained an element of truth, immortality in that respect would defy cultural expectations and would create issues for the immortal ones. Fortunately, the legends were just that—stories.

He could think of only one logical reason for the sketch in the newspaper. Although the combinations of facial features varied, there were only a limited number of them. At one time in the past, a doctor with his particular combination had rescued the young boy, and the newspaper sketch artist had decided to include the man's picture in the newspaper. With that thought in mind, he started to feel himself calm down slightly.

Thoughts of the other Henry Morgans, the mysterious Jo, and the faint echoes that he had crossed his mind. Why did the links fascinate him? Why did he feel a connection with the Henry Morgan who was born over 200 years ago? Who was Jo? Was she the woman he had seen in the detailed flash? Why did those two comments seem so familiar? He thought of several explanations for each question, but none of his answers satisfied him.

Soon, his questions about himself began. He tried to deduce more details about his life from what he knew. He exhaled. Without more information about himself, however, he was unable to answer his questions.

He then instinctively placed his right hand on his scar. He felt his heartbeat keep time to an unseen metronome. His scar and his naked sleepwalks to the river were the most perplexing parts of his past. If tonight's detailed flash was a hazy memory, then why was he so uncertain that the woman would believe him? Was that fear connected to the reason for the scar and to his somnambulism?

Honestly, if there was a chance that she wouldn't believe him, then there were some things in his life that were very difficult to talk about. Anything from his past that challenged her beliefs would give him reason to fear her reaction. Because of that, his scar, and his trips to the river, Henry wasn't sure if he even wanted to know what his life was like before his amnesia.

He readjusted himself on the bed. Then again, maybe the events of his past could shed some light on some things in his life. He could discover what it was in the other Henry Morgans' lives that had fascinated him. He could learn if the three flashes and the faint echoes that he had been hearing over the past day were memories. Learning Jo's identity might bring a new friend into his life—unless he had met her before without realizing it. Maybe he could even remember exactly who he was.

He became motionless for a minute and listened to the clock in the living room. He was glad that tomorrow was his day off of work. He had no plans for the day. He, however, wanted to spend some time with Detective Martinez as their moment at the elevator today was too short for her pleasure—and his own.

At the thought of that moment, he felt himself instantaneously and completely relax. Before he could think another thought about her, he felt his eyes close. Within the next few seconds, he fell sound asleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** These notes will be a little disorganized, so please bear with me.

I based Henry's computer knowledge on the show's canon. I got the part where Henry rests his right hand on the mouse pad from the scene where he and Abe talked about Abe's eHarmony profile in "Look Before You Leap." For Skype, I figured that Abe had mentioned it in a "deleted" (i.e., imagined) scene from "The King of Columbus Circle". His typing is from "Social Engineering".

The part where the arrow disappears is something that I have taken from my real-life experiences with my laptop. It usually happens if I press a certain button on my computer or after a major software update for my mouse. And, yes, I get just as frustrated as Henry does here when it happens.

In Henry's Internet search, people had mentioned a couple of Henry's deaths and rebirths online and had suggested that he's immortal in the posts. The search engine, however, buried the posts on page 50. Henry only looked through the first five pages when he searched for mentions of both nakedness and rivers.

In my head canon for this story, this is Henry's first time seeing his tombstone. He had caught a glimpse of it when he had reunited with Nora in 1815, but her actions later that day kept him from seeing it. After his stays in Bedlam, Charing Cross, and Southwark Prison, he never returned to his and his family's estate because of the painful memories associated with it. After a number of years, the city of London took over the property, tore down the house where Henry had lived from birth until the day that Nora had him committed, and turned the land into a public cemetery. Someone had entered the cemetery and had taken a photograph of Henry's tombstone while documenting the cemetery for a genealogy resource. The genealogy resource was the site that Henry visited.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note** : Two things (three if you count the episodic reference note):

First, I know that everyone is wondering when Henry will somehow make a connection between Jo and her name. Without revealing spoilers, I can definitely say that it will be within the next few chapters. Please be patient as there is still a little bit more story to tell before I reach that point.

Second, I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter. By the way, no, you are not missing anything.

There are major references to "Skinny Dipper" and a very minor reference to "Look Before You Leap".

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

The setting sun shone behind Detective Martinez as she and Henry walked alongside of a tree-lined path. His coat hung over her shoulders because of a slight spring evening chill, and he had removed his waistcoat and draped it over his arm so that he wouldn't look out of place. He stole a loving glance at her as they walked in a comfortable silence.

They stopped in front of a tall iron structure. Henry was absolutely breathless as he took in Detective Martinez's beauty. In this light, she looked like an angel in her black tea dress, high heels, and his blue coat.

All of his feelings for her surged within him. He laid his waistcoat on the fence separating them from the nearby pond. He then reached up and gently cupped her face with his hand. When she noticed the gesture, she briefly glanced at his hand and then looked into his eyes.

He couldn't resist his feelings any longer. He tilted his head, leaned forward, and gently placed his lips on hers. For a moment, she startled, being caught off-guard by his impulsive decision. To his pleasure, however, she relaxed and reciprocated with a soft kiss of her own.

Her kiss and her arms wrapping around his neck intensified his feelings and encouraged him to convert their chaste kiss into a lover's kiss. As it deepened,—.

An insistent ring caused the moment to vanish into darkness and suddenly brought Henry back into an awareness of his bed in the antiques shop.

He buried his head deeper into his pillow and grumbled, "Abe, would you get that?!" He longed to know how he and Detective Martinez had found themselves in the unknown city and what would happen after the kiss. He tried to return to sleep and to his dream.

The continuous ringing and Abe's unusual silence prompted Henry to open his eyes and to give up his plan. He rose from his bed, walked to Abe's room, and opened the door to see if his roommate was feeling well. One glance into the room revealed a made bed and no sign of Abe.

Henry walked through the kitchen and stopped at the table. Again, Abe wasn't there or, from what he could see, in the living room. As he brought his focus back into the dining area, Henry spotted a piece of paper on the table. He picked it up, unfolded it, and was relieved to see the other man's handwriting. Abe mentioned that he had left to look at some antiques in the East Village and that he had left Henry a couple of recipes for breakfast dishes in case he had forgotten how to prepare them.

The ringing began to reverberate in his head. To stop it, Henry stepped into the living room, laid the note on the end table, and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Henry?" At the sound of Detective Martinez's voice, the rest of the world vanished, once again leaving just the two of them and the end table that served as their link.

"Detective! To what do I owe this pleasure?" Whatever she wanted to do today, he would be delighted to do it with her. He barely felt his posture straighten and his free arm move behind him as he spoke.

"We have a body."

His heart started to sink. He didn't think that she only wanted to work with him. He suddenly remembered her disappointment when he had left her yesterday, and he chided himself. Her call indicated that she was asking him to be with her during this new case.

Once again, his will instinctively complied with hers. "Where is it at?"

"It's at a public pool near First Avenue and St. Marks Place."

He tried to picture where it was located, but he couldn't. At that second, he glanced down at Abe's note. His heart began to pound in his chest as he realized that Abe had gone in that general direction.

Henry pushed the thought of something happening to the older man out of his mind. Generally, Abe was in much better health than some members of the NYPD who were at most half of his age. By now, he should have arrived safely at his destination.

Detective Martinez's gentle breathing on the other end of the line caused Henry to instantly relax and to slip back under her influence. "Do you want me to meet you there?"

"I'm coming to pick you up, and I'll be there in ten minutes. I've just stopped to get you some breakfast first."

 _Breakfast with Detective Martinez sounds pleasant._ "I'll be ready when you arrive."

He could hear her smile on the other end of the line. "I'll see you then." As someone in the distance called a number, she shouted, "Here!" before Henry heard a beep on her end.

Longing to hear her voice once again, he stood there and held the receiver against his ear. A blast of warm air from the furnace suddenly shocked him out of his state as it hit his legs. He looked down and saw his NYPD t-shirt and his boxer shorts. He had the sudden feeling that no member of the NYPD would let him join her while he was dressed like that.

He looked at the ticking clock on the mantle, and his stomach growled. Knowing that he didn't have much time until she arrived, he hung up the phone. He hurried first to the bathroom and then back to his bedroom. He quickly changed into a black dress shirt and black dress pants. As he slipped on his socks and shoes, his mind returned to his dream. He sighed. He would never know how it would turn out. He then smiled; his breakfast with Detective Martinez would make up for it.

* * *

Henry stared at the gray sedan submerged in the swimming pool. His heart sank at the familiar sight, and the pleasant breakfast with Detective Martinez was instantly forgotten.

He couldn't bring himself to see if Abe was being treated by the paramedics. Henry knew that he had experienced a difficult two weeks. Judging from the older man's temperament, he likely would bottle up his emotions to the point of giving himself a heart attack. Henry would never forgive himself if he had caused something to happen to his roommate.

He faintly heard Hanson's voice behind him. "I thought that this is something that happened only in the movies…or in Florida."

Henry blinked, bringing himself out of his thoughts. He studied the car to see what could had happened to Abe. Henry let out an unconsciously held breath as he quickly noticed that the morning sun's rays reflected off the vehicle's curved edges, not the straight ones associated with Abe's sedan.

Feeling that the older man was undoubtedly elsewhere, Henry turned to Hanson. "Surely, you _have_ seen a submerged vehicle before? Maybe in the river?"

Hanson raised an eyebrow. Henry immediately realized that he had no idea where the comment came from. Perhaps he had seen a situation similar to this one during his early days as a medical examiner.

"Henry?" Wahl's voice beckoned Henry to come to where his assistant was.

Henry followed the sound of his assistant's voice around the pool deck to an area across from the sunken car's front passenger's side. A young man, appearing to be in his mid-twenties, rested on the ground while Wahl knelt beside him. Henry sighed. A mere youth could no longer fulfill his potential because of a suddenly shortened life.

Henry squatted onto the ground and checked the man's arms, legs, and neck. The body's cold temperature and relative inflexibility quickly sobered the medical examiner. The young man's family and friends, in all likelihood, were missing him right now.

"Judging from the amount of rigor mortis in the body, I would say that this young man had died between seven yesterday evening and one this morning." He looked at the detectives. The sight of Detective Martinez joining him and Wahl pleasantly surprised him.

As she squatted next to Henry, the world dissolved around the two of them. A thrill of joy coursed through him, and he felt himself smiling as he caught her eye. Her presence beside him caused him to relax so much that he lost the abilities to think and to speak. All that he knew was that they could stay this way all day, and he would be content.

A sudden cough jerked him out of his ecstasy. He looked for the source, and his ears and cheeks began to feel warm when he realized that it came from Wahl. Wahl's facial expression went from annoyed to very pleased with—bordering on excitement about, really—Henry's reaction in a matter of seconds.

He studied his assistant and noticed that Wahl was waving a wallet in front of Detective Martinez. It took Henry a moment to reason that Wahl had looked through Titus' pockets and had pulled out the man's wallet while he was focused on Detective Martinez.

He felt his face warm even more from his inattentiveness. _This is neither the time nor the place for this sort of behavior. We're here to investigate a man's death and to bring his family a small sense of comfort, not to spend the entire day enjoying each other's presence. Any pleasure in the other's company today will have to wait until a lunch break or after work._

Surprised by his sudden plans, he inhaled to regain his composure. He looked back at Detective Martinez. Sensing that he needed to distract himself to maintain his professionalism, Henry focused on the movement of her hands as she reached across him and took the wallet from Wahl. Henry's interest in her findings piqued as he watched her, and he leaned over her shoulder to examine the identification.

"Titus Forsyth, age 24." She flipped through several cards that he had in the wallet's pockets. She stopped at one. "A student at Baruch College."

Henry glanced into the car's back seat. A book laid in the seat and two had fallen onto the floorboard. "Based on the titles of his textbooks, he's a history major, specializing in American and European history."

Henry heard Hanson inhale behind him. "How am I going to break the news to Karen?"

"Who's Karen?" Fear of another stay in Bellevue, this time as a psychiatric patient, surged within Henry as he realized that he had just blurted out his question to someone who didn't know about his memory issues.

He looked up at Hanson to see what his reaction was. His friend's mouth hung open. After a couple of moments, he stammered and regained the ability to speak. "My wife."

To stop his distress, Henry turned his head back to Detective Martinez. Before he could look fully at her face, his fear vanished. In its place was his full attention.

"Do you see anything else on the body?"

 _The body_. Henry moved away from her and re-examined Titus. "I don't see anything unusual. Titus doesn't have any fracture or contusions, so there's no visual signs of a struggle. He also doesn't exhibit signs of any known physical ailments. In my opinion, he appears to be perfectly healthy."

He looked up at Detectives Martinez and Hanson. Detective Martinez pulled her mouth tight and looked at the ground while she pondered the information.

Hanson spoke up. "Suicide?"

Henry rose from his position and examined the scene. The chain link gate was bent, and the padlock dangled from a chain woven through the links. Black skid marks led to the pool. Other than the patrol officers, the CSU unit, the paramedics, the two detectives, and Wahl, Henry didn't see anyone who stood out in the crowd of people.

"I can't say for certain, but I don't believe so. He had no froth in his mouth or his nasal passages, which indicates that he didn't drown." He briefly glanced down at Wahl. "We'll have to examine the body back at the morgue." Henry lowered his eyes to the ground. He wished that he could give the detectives more details.

He let his eyes drift to the car. He looked through the front window of the passenger's side, and the floorboard on the driver's side attracted his attention. It appeared that something, perhaps a block of wood, was stuck under the accelerator.

He wanted a closer look at the object. It very well could indicate Titus' mindset at his time of death. By the looks of things, he needed to enter the water and open the car door to begin his examination.

Could he swim? None of his deductions about his life implied that he could. One of his daydreams, however, suggested that he should have some rudimentary knowledge of swimming. He leaned down, pulled his foot toward him, and latched his hand around the sole of his shoe.

An image of him being underwater and in desperate need of air suddenly flashed before his eyes.

He froze and stared at the water surrounding the car. His heart raced faster, and he found it more difficult to breathe. Hoping to calm himself, he swallowed and tried to avert his steady gaze at the water. Unfortunately, his eyes remained transfixed on the glistening surface.

His body suddenly swayed toward the pool, and the motion broke his trance. He slowly released his foot and straightened himself before nervously turning toward the two detectives. Hanson's right eyebrow was raised. Detective Martinez, however, looked concerned for his wellbeing.

Henry inhaled to calm himself. "As the car _is_ a part of the crime scene, I don't wish to contaminate it with my personal effects. I, however, do suggest that CSU should take a look under the accelerator when they pull the car out of the water. I believe that there's a piece of evidence there." The second that he finished his statement, he felt his breathing returning to normal and his heart rate slowing.

He hoped that the two detectives would accept his explanation. Something in it, however, was strangely familiar. In a way, Henry could almost hear Hanson's voice echoing some of the words as he spoke.

Detective Martinez's eyes met his. "Why do I have the feeling I know what you'll say next?"

"If I'm correct, then we have another murder on our hands."

Henry noticed Detective Martinez's mouth beginning to open. He felt rude by staring at her, so he averted his eyes toward Hanson. The other detective rolled his eyes up and shook his head.

Henry sighed as he looked past the two detectives. Four mysterious deaths in his general neighborhood in almost two weeks seemed to be a considerably high number. Even if William Ashbrooke's murder was now solved, the new death meant that a killer, or even multiple killers, was still on the loose. Henry hoped that he and Detective Martinez could learn the motive for the crimes and that they could find a way to capture the murderer before he struck again.

As for his lack of swimming ability, Henry wondered if he should take swimming lessons to correct that deficit. He decided against it for the time being. His fear of the water must had come from a traumatic event that had created a memory so powerful that he instinctively acted on it in his current state. To adequately conquer his fear, he would need to have the traumatic memory removed from his life. He hoped, that, when his memory did return, that the events of what had happened to him in the water would be one that he would actually forget forever.

* * *

Lucas finished his notes about Titus' body and looked over his clipboard. For almost the past two weeks, he had been wishing for a sense of normalcy again. The number of friends leaving because of Dr. Washington's behavior and the police's suspicions about Henry were enough to frustrate and depress him. Today, though, everything seemed to be returning to normal.

Well, almost normal. Henry unexpectedly asked who Mike's wife was, and he had a sudden panic attack when he was about to dive into the pool. Henry and Jo were smiling at and making almost constant eye contact with each other when they got out of Jo's car earlier this morning. Also, they were so distracted by each other at the pool that Lucas had to wave Titus' wallet and clear his throat to get their attention.

For those last two, it was about time. Lucas enthusiastically pumped his fist when he had seen the loving looks on their faces as they entered the pool area. His favorite couple had just publicly confirmed their relationship. Now, Mike, who had said that they would be dating for a while before looking like they were in love with each other, owed him twenty dollars and a drink at McSorley's.

As for the other two reactions, they were weird. If Lucas had to guess, he would say that Adam was trying to blackmail Henry. He could have easily told Henry to do something or innocent people would be hurt. Henry refused to comply, so Adam targeted a random person and killed him in the same way that Henry had been murdered years ago. When Henry saw it, he could have been reminded of Adam's "request".

Lucas shook his head. This wasn't Adam's style. He was into torture and violence during his killing of mortals; he saved the more normal stuff, like drowning, for Henry. Titus, however, showed no signs of being tortured or brutally murdered.

Lucas lowered his clipboard. They had a mortal murderer on their hands. This death had been cleverly disguised as a suicide, but something had given him away. Something that Henry had noticed. Lucas listened for his boss' insights into the mind of the killer.

None came. Henry was silent.

 _That's weird_. Lucas looked over at his friend. Henry stood motionless next to Titus' body, and he vacantly stared at something in the room. A scalpel laid on top of the deceased's chest.

For a man who was having his first full day of freedom and who was doing something for the woman he loved, Henry wasn't enjoying his day. He must be worried about something, or he could be remembering a painful event from his past.

There was only one way to find out. Lucas tucked the clipboard under his arm, pulled off his glove, moved his hand in front of his friend's face, and snapped his fingers.

Henry blinked several times and began to move again. He slowly turned to the assistant ME. "Huh?"

As he put his glove back on, Lucas noticed a blank expression on Henry's face. This wasn't one of his typical "blasts from the distant past", worried thoughts, or daydreams about getting lost in Paris with Jo.

"Are you okay? You seem to be worried about something."

"I'm fine." Henry smiled in an effort to reassure Lucas. The older ME turned his attention back to Titus and picked up the scalpel. As he cut, he muttered, "Maybe I need swimming lessons."

The clipboard fell out of Lucas' hands, and it clattered as it landed on the ground. "Swimming lessons?!"

Lucas' raised voice caused Henry to snap his head up. Lucas looked around to see if anyone else had heard him. Fortunately, the rest of the area was empty.

He leaned over and lowered his voice to give them some additional privacy from the ears of nosy colleagues. "What are you talking about? You already know how to swim. You've done it many times before in the East River—."

Henry put down the scalpel, spread his arms, and rested his hands on the autopsy table. "Mr. Wahl, you've apparently misheard me after my first naked sleepwalking incident, and I have never corrected you. The police had found me _near_ the river, not in it. If anyone tried to swim in the raging currents, they would die."

 _What?_ "Not if you're immortal—."

Henry squared his jaw and stared at him. "Unless you are referring to the concept of a life in a paradise or reincarnation into a completely new being after death, immortality doesn't exist. It is just a myth that societies have created to explain their concepts of the deaths and afterlives of a few select individuals."

Lucas stood there with his mouth open. Henry's comment had rendered him speechless.

"Can we please return to the autopsy?" Henry sounded quite annoyed. "I would like to tell Detective Martinez how Titus died before the day's end."

As Henry turned back to his task, Lucas used the time to pick up his clipboard and to calm himself. He couldn't believe his ears. Henry Morgan—an _immortal_ —thought that he was still mortal?! That just wasn't possible.

Was it? Lucas straightened up and began to note Henry's observations. Henry still wasn't his usual self in terms of personality or clothes. Although his acceptance of Lucas' invitation to go out for drinks the other night was an exception, he remained formal around Lucas. In addition, Henry actually believed his shocking statement.

Did something completely erase Henry's memory? He never said anything about it, but he certainly acted as though his memories were gone. If so, that would explain the reset.

Lucas needed to talk to Abe and Jo about this. They likely had noticed the signs, and Henry might have told them what was going on.

Lucas looked at his watch. His lunch break was after Titus' autopsy. He could go upstairs and talk to Jo about Henry's reaction.

No, really, he should wait until this evening and talk to Abe then. Jo was upset over the past couple of days, and he didn't want to hurt her even more with their discussion. Besides, he and Abe could try to diagnose the cause of Henry's memory issues.

Lucas glanced at Henry and jotted down another observation. In the meantime, Henry and Jo were officially a couple. Lucas wouldn't mind if Mike asked him to meet him at McSorley's for a drink before he went to see Abe. There was a drink with his name on it, and he had every intention of enjoying it.

* * *

Abe looked around Bellevue's main atrium. The memories of Lt. Reece's call last week flooded back. It was difficult for him to see his father lying on a hospital bed and being monitored by the same pieces of equipment that they used at home every time Dad tested a toxin on himself. Throughout his visit in the emergency department, Abe was torn between wanting his father to die and awaken for the second time that week and wishing that the hospital staff would transfer him upstairs. The latter had happened, and that was why Abe was here today.

He quickly found the information desk. A receptionist raised her head. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking for the medical records department. Can you tell me where it is?" She directed him down a couple of corridors. He thanked her and left.

As he walked, his mind returned to the past couple of days. After he had left Jo, he had wanted to come here. A potential customer, however, ruined his first chance by requesting an appointment to look at some of the store's wares. After the appointment, Abe spent the rest of the day looking through a likely seller's antiques. When he returned home, grief about his father's condition suddenly overwhelmed him. He was relieved when Dad called to say that he was going out for a round of drinks with Lucas; he didn't want the older man to see how upset he was.

When Dad returned home and confirmed his amnesia, everything changed. Abe was still worried about his father's condition, but he became quite determined to do something about it. The next morning, he asked the older gentleman about the deductions that he had made. Abe expected that it would jog his father's memory, would root Dad in reality, or both.

From what he had seen yesterday after their reenactment, Dad's deductions and his case work had caused him to return to his normal self in some ways. Abe hoped that, once he determined the cause of the immortal's memory issues, he and Dad could find a way to get the rest of him back.

A phone's ring interrupted Abe's thoughts. He instinctively pulled his cell phone out and checked it. To his surprise, no one called him. He looked for the source. He smiled as he realized that it came from the medical records desk.

He placed the phone back in his pocket. A few good things were coming out of this. Dad had finally learned how to use the computer and the Internet, and Abe was able to tell him a few of the stories that the immortal would otherwise object to hearing. Plus, Abe was very pleasantly surprised and completely overjoyed by Dad's desire to learn how to give Jo a neck massage. None of it would have been possible without Dad losing a few of his inhibitions when he lost his memory.

The man at the desk waved Abe forward. The memory of the blank look on Dad's face as he asked about Abe's birth and adoption quickly sobered the younger Morgan. He reached into his pocket again and fingered his father's pocket watch for comfort and to remind himself that Dad hadn't always been that way. There _had_ to be some reason for the memory issues.

Abe stepped forward. "My, um, my son was a patient here last week, and I would like to have a copy of his medical records." A twinge of pain hit as he said the word "son", but he quickly suppressed it as he had many times over the past fifty years.

"Name and date of birth?"

"Henry Morgan. September 19, 1979." Abe suddenly wished that this receptionist didn't find any of Dad's records from the 1800s—if he had any—in the hospital's database.

"You said last week?"

Abe nodded. "Last Wednesday."

To Abe's relief, the receptionist gave him a form to fill out. Once he completed it and handed it back to the man, Abe waited as the other man printed Dad's record. The receptionist gave him a filled manila envelope. Abe thanked him and headed back to the car.

As he wove his way through the halls, Abe suddenly grew nervous about the file's contents. What if the doctors have found some evidence of Dad's immortality in the tests that they had run? Will they have to move again? Could he even talk Dad into leaving New York for his own safety?

No, that would be unfair to everyone. Dad had made friends here, and they would hate to see him leave the city, even if it was for his own good. Besides, Dad had the best chance of regaining his memory here in New York. A move might guarantee that he would never return to normal.

The phone in Abe's pocket rang. He tucked the envelope under his arm and pulled the phone out. He looked at the number. It was the Frenchman.

He hesitated. He hated to use her as his excuse for not being at breakfast this morning. Yet, he didn't want his father know about his trip to Bellevue. Dad's amnesia clearly terrified him, and Abe didn't want Dad's fears about his condition to intensify.

The phone continued ringing. Groaning, Abe answered it. He didn't like to consult her on weaponry, but he had no choice this time. For the past eleven weeks, he had been cataloging three warehouses filled with antiques for a friend. The 19th century swords that he had discovered in one of the warehouses last Sunday after lunch with Myron looked authentic, but he wanted a second opinion. His worries about his father had prevented him from asking the older Morgan about them, and, unfortunately, the only other expert that Abe could think of was the Frenchman.

As he listened to her creepy form of flirtation, he glanced at the manila envelope. Tonight, when he returned home, he would look at the records. Hopefully, it would shed some light on Dad's amnesia and on a treatment for it. Otherwise, Abe wouldn't know what to do if all of Dad's test results came back normal.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** A few things:

To Ken_the_Trog and parkin24, thank you for your comments in chapters 17 and 19, respectively; they helped to improve the story. Your comments served as the inspiration for Abe's trips to see the Frenchman and the inclusion of a couple of things, one of them canon, that Henry would be reticent about in the chapter. Thank you again.

Yes, they are passionately kissing at the base of the Eiffel Tower in Henry's dream! If Jo hadn't called him, someone would have interrupted them with a "Get a room!" Henry would have gathered his waistcoat and coat. After helping Jo with the coat, they would have walked off. The dream then would have naturally ended as Henry would have been waking up.

For your curiosity, a lover's kiss is a French kiss. I needed some inspiration on how to keep the kiss K/K+-rated as the crimes have earned the story a T rating. So, I looked up French kissing on Wikipedia and found the phrase!

I couldn't include a conversation between Henry and Jo in the car for logistical reasons. It's only seven-tenths of a mile (a little over one kilometer) from Suffolk and Stanton to the fictitious public swimming pool at First Avenue and St. Marks Place. The short distance gives them barely enough time for breakfast.

The image of Henry being underwater is the start of his rebirth in "Skinny Dipper".

Also, the Frenchman did not call Abe in chapter 17. That is all I can tell you without revealing any spoilers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note** : About the first five paragraphs of chapter 20, I'm glad that you've enjoyed them! (Now, to get Henry and Jo to do it for real!)

There are references to "Skinny Dipper" and "Diamonds Are Forever".

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

The elevator doors opened, and Jo stepped out of the car. It had been a few hours since Henry and Lucas had begun to autopsy Titus's body, and she was curious as to what they had found. In addition, she wanted to spend the hour-long lunch break that Lt. Reece had given her to see how Henry was doing.

At least, that was what she had told Lieu before she had left the floor. Honestly, she wanted to see if there was anything that she could do to help Henry. Their new case had forced him to work on his day off, and she wanted to be there if he needed something.

She had to admit that she had been thinking about him during every free moment that she had yesterday. She made a mental list of his interests and preferences, and she wondered if he would like for her to join him in some of his favorite activities. When she passed by an antiques store on the way home from work, she stopped the car, looked in the window, and wondered if he or his family had owned any of the pieces in the store. After starting a re-watch of _Pride and Prejudice_ , she began to daydream about him, and before she had known it, she fell asleep on the sofa. When Mike called her this morning and said that they had a body, she had quickly become annoyed with her other partner as he had interrupted a dream about her and Henry having a romantic dinner on the shop's rooftop terrace.

She heard footsteps coming toward her, abruptly snapping her out of her thoughts. Searching for the sound's source, she looked over and saw Lucas strolling toward her. His burritos and his latest issue of _Soul Slasher_ told her that he was about to begin his lunch break.

"Hey, Lucas."

"Hey!" He smiled at her. "Henry gave me an hour-long lunch break today because we had to come in on our day off and because of my recent workload."

"That's great."

She studied the young assistant as he stopped in front of her. Given Henry's panic attack at the scene, she wasn't sure if he wanted to discuss the autopsy results yet. "What have you found?"

"Actually, nothing. From what we can tell, Titus was in great shape. We have to wait for the toxicology results and the lab work to see if there's anything that could had contributed to his death."

He took a deep breath. "Henry was pretty spaced out when I left him. He seems to be upset about something."

She placed a hand on Lucas' shoulder and braced herself for Henry's thoughts. "Thanks."

She left him, and, soon, she entered Henry's office. His eyes focused on something on the wall, and he was on the verge of tears.

All of her thoughts about the case and of her lunch break vanished. She pulled out a chair and sat down in it. "Henry?"

At the sound of his name, he turned to her. He remained silent as he waited for her next words.

"What's wrong?"

He sighed and blinked back his tears before looking down at the table. "For a moment this morning, I thought that it was Abe."

Her heart broke, and she could feel the tears beginning to form in her eyes. She waited for him to continue.

He swallowed. "Abe's been like family to me." His voice was soft and cracking from the morning's emotional strain. "I can't even begin to imagine what I have put him through over the past week and a half. If I had caused something to happen to him because of my amnesia…"

She could hear his unspoken "I would never forgive myself." It sounded as though his father's heart might had survived the cause of his memory issues. She wondered what else had remained in his memory.

The sob rising in his throat broke through her thoughts. She reached over and took both of his hands in hers. He glanced down at them and back up at her. The second their eyes met, he began to relax. She was content to sit there and to hold his hands for as long as he wanted.

He began to shift his weight in his chair.

"You're still worried about him."

He inhaled and nodded.

She removed her hands from his and reached into her pants pocket. She slipped her phone out of it, quickly found Abe's cell phone number, and dialed it before handing the phone to Henry.

His eyes widened as he took the phone from her hands. A second later, he asked Abe to wait a minute as he tried to figure out how to hold it against his ear. In the meantime, she could hear Abe's chuckle on the other end. After a couple of tries, Henry finally succeeded.

"Yes... No, nothing has happened. It's just…" He sighed and glanced at her. "There had been a fatal accident earlier this morning, and I thought that you were involved in it. I wanted to be sure that you were okay." He listened for a minute. She could see a grin form on his face and hear a slight chuckle in his voice. "That sounds delicious. I'll see you tonight. Enjoy yourself in the meantime…. Okay…. Goodbye."

He handed the phone back to Jo. She ended the call and placed the cell phone back into her pocket.

"Thank you. I needed that."

His much calmer voice prompted her to look up at him. She could see a light in his eyes and a smile on his face. She gazed into his eyes and immediately found herself feeling as though there was nothing else in the world but the two of them.

She heard his chair pull out, and she looked at him. He had risen from his seat. "Would you like some coffee? I believe that we have time for some before Mr. Wahl returns from his lunch break."

 _Coffee with Henry. That sounds good._ She barely felt herself rise from her seat and push the chair back to the desk. "I'd love some."

She watched him join her side. It took her a second to notice that he still wore his lab coat. They must be heading to the OCME's break room.

He looked at her face. "We can talk about anything that you want, even what you had wanted to discuss during this morning's breakfast."

All topics of conversation fled her mind. As far as she was concerned, they could spend the entire time in silence and just enjoy being together.

 _Breakfast._ The breakfast sandwich wasn't his usual type of food. Yet, to her pleasant surprise, he joyfully ate it. "How was your sandwich this morning?"

"It was delicious. I never imagined that eggs, ham, green bell peppers, and Provolone cheese would taste delectable on a croissant."

"The sandwich shop's use of them is one reason why I like to get breakfast from there sometimes." She looked at him. If she wanted to spoil him, she needed to bring him one more often.

As they wove their way through the hallways in a very comfortable silence, she smiled as she occasionally stole a few glances at him. Being able to spend her lunch break with Henry was so…romantic.

Suddenly, Jo felt something solid across her waist. The unexpected pressure caused her to notice her surroundings. She glanced down and saw Henry's arm in the area where she had felt the sensation. She looked up to see the reason behind his action.

Almost immediately, she found it. One of the attendants had stepped in front of Henry and was currently blocking their path with a gurney. "The CME wants you to look at another one of Dr. Washington's corpses. When do you want to start?"

As he lowered his arm, Henry looked at her and then back at the man. "My assistant and I will start after we finish our lunch breaks. In the meantime, you can place the body in a cooler."

The attendant moved aside. He took one step before stopping. "Dr. Morgan, no offense, but you don't take lunch breaks."

"I've decided to have one for a change."

The attendant's eyes darted to Jo. A look of comprehension came on his face, and he smiled as he looked back to Henry. "Uh huh. Enjoy yourselves." He then leaned forward and pushed the gurney toward the coolers.

The attendant's comment about Henry's lunch breaks jolted Jo back to reality. Henry's amnesia had created a difference between the man whom everyone knew almost two weeks ago and the man whom they worked with today. With each passing day, his memory loss was becoming more obvious to others. Soon, it could attract the attention of his boss; after that, who knows what would happen.

Henry looked her in the eye. She felt herself completely relaxing as he held her gaze.

"Shall we?"

She sensed something near her side. Reluctant to pull herself away from their shared look, she peered down. He had crooked his arm and inserted his hand into his pants pocket. His elbow jutted out—like he was offering her his arm.

Based on her knowledge of _Pride and Prejudice_ , men in the 1800s usually offered their arms to escort a woman in public. Her eyes widened in surprise. Henry was using a gesture that had originated in his mortal past. As he didn't remember anything about that part of his life, she wondered if the action had become an instinct over the centuries.

Then again, he didn't offer his arm to just any woman. She had never seen him act this way with any of the women whom he had dated since he and Jo had first met. As far as Jo knew, the last time that he had offered an arm to a woman, Abigail was the lucky recipient.

 _Which means today…_

She inhaled sharply in amazement at the meaning of the gesture. Hoping that she was doing it right, she cautiously linked her arm into his. Once her arm was secured around his, he pressed his elbow to his side, making her feel like he was holding her hand in a way. Astonished by the feeling raising up in her, she tightened her grip on his arm to steady herself.

She looked up at him. He didn't even notice what they had done. He, however, was waiting for her response to his question.

"Yes." She then smiled at him.

As they continued their walk, Jo smile grew wider. He didn't want her to do anything else for him today. Instead, he just wanted to spend time with her. For her, that was all that mattered now.

* * *

As Mike stepped out of the elevator, he still couldn't believe what he was doing. It was the first time that this had ever happened. Usually, Henry had managed to keep Jo on time—even when they had been stuck in traffic—ever since they had met. Today, though, Jo still hadn't returned from her lunch break, and Lt. Reece had sent Mike to the morgue to look for her.

He walked to Henry's office and looked in there first. He wrinkled his eyebrows in surprise; neither of them were there. In fact, even the autopsy room outside of Henry's office and the cooler were empty.

He then headed down the hallway. Suddenly, he spotted a woman whose back was turned toward him. Thinking that it was Jo, he quickened his pace. As he neared the woman, he realized that her hair was in a bun. He kicked himself; Jo's hair was down this morning.

He then caught the top of Lucas' head. Mike quickly moved toward the wall, eased past the pair, and hoped that Lucas didn't see him.

He remembered why he wanted to avoid the assistant ME. When Jo and Henry had arrived at the scene, the two of them reminded Mike of himself and Karen when they were first dating. For the most part, he was thrilled that Henry and Jo were together. Before they met, they both had been quite lonely and had been determined to end the pain associated with losing Sean and Abigail. Meeting each other had brought both of them out of their loneliness and had let them enjoy life again. Mike was sure that they had found someone else to share life with—each other.

On the other hand, he was surprised by the timing of their relationship. Mike wondered if Henry's recent hospitalization had prompted their behavior. He decided against it. Their feelings for each other had been building over the years, and, sooner or later, the romance was going to happen. Today, it looked as though they had finally admitted their feelings to themselves and to each other.

In any case, Mike regretted making a bet with Lucas about Henry and Jo's relationship while the men were cleaning up the mess that they've made during their re-enactment yesterday. Lucas would be gloating about being right about this for an entire week—at least.

Mike sighed. Maybe he should pay Lucas the twenty dollars and the drink at McSorley's that he owed him tonight. The sooner that he got this over with, the better.

His mission returned to his mind. If he didn't find Jo soon, Lt. Reece's glare would kill him before he could leave her office later today.

He continued down the hall, checking each autopsy room as he walked. He soon noticed an attendant in the hallway.

"Hey!"

The attendant snapped his head toward the detective.

"Did you see my partner come through here? She's almost my height, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. She's probably with Hen—Dr. Morgan."

"Yeah. They went to the break room."

"Thanks." Mike threw up his hand in appreciation and jogged toward the room.

When he arrived, his mouth opened at the sight. Henry and Jo sat at the table with two cups of coffee in front of them. Resting her chin on one hand, Jo absently fingered the rim of her cup with the other while Henry left his cup untouched. Neither of them could take their eyes off of the other.

Mike closed his mouth and cleared his throat.

They broke their gaze, turned at the same time, and glared at him.

Mike gulped. Henry was using the same angry glare that he usually reserved for Abe and Lucas.

Remembering his mission, Mike focused his attention onto Jo. "Lieu wants to see you."

Puzzled, Jo checked her watch. Her mouth opened, and she almost jumped out of her chair. She looked at Henry as she pushed it back. "I'm sorry. I've got to—."

He got out of his seat and pushed his chair under the table. "I'm sorry. I should have asked you how much time that you had for lunch. I should accompany you upstairs and apologize to Lt. Reece for keeping you so long."

Mike thought back to the early days of his and Karen's relationship. He suppressed a chuckle as he remembered the first time that he had made her late for anything.

Henry and Jo made their way to the door. Mike leaned back to let them through. As Jo passed him, she turned her head back and looked at Henry.

Mike began to feel like a chaperone at prom. He caught her eye and stared at her.

Disappointed, she turned toward the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and stole one last glimpse of Henry before trudging down the hallway.

He started to follow her. Mike trotted up to him and joined his side.

"Are you two together?" _If so, it's about time_.

Henry studied the floor for a moment before turning to the detective. "If you mean that we've fallen in love with each other, I believe that we have. We haven't mentioned anything about it to each other yet. Then again, we haven't had much time alone lately to discuss anything personal in nature."

Mike nodded. Their cases over the past month had kept them busy. He tried to spend as much time with Karen and the boys as possible, but there were some nights earlier in the month when he couldn't. He knew that both Jo and Henry were trying to maintain the same balance between work and their personal lives as well.

At the thought of Karen, Mike grew silent. This was the second death that he had to tell her about in as many days. "Doc, can you help me with something?"

"I will try. What is it?"

Mike didn't want to talk about it right now; he might become uncharacteristically emotional about his situation. "I'll tell you along the way."

Before Henry had the chance to reply, they both heard footsteps. Mike turned to the source, and he suppressed the urge to groan. It was Lucas.

The assistant ME walked up to them. "Hey! I was looking for you. I didn't see you in your office, and I saw—."

Henry stopped, and Mike followed his lead. "Mr. Wahl, you seem quite chipper. May I ask why?"

Mike and Lucas looked at each other, and Lucas' smile faded. It wasn't like Henry to not know why Lucas had a huge grin on his face.

Lucas stood still for a moment before his grin returned. "I have a date with Tori tomorrow night. We're planning to catch this horror movie that we both have been wanting to see. I might even spend Sunday with her since it's our day off. I don't know what we'll do yet. I'll just see how we jive, and, then—."

Henry smiled. "That's great. I hope that you'll enjoy yourselves this weekend."

He paused and bit his lower lip in thought. "I don't want to mention this as it could ruin your good mood, but the CME wants us to autopsy another one of Dr. Washington's corpses. Hanson wants me to assist him with the investigation, so we'll conduct the autopsy later."

Lucas sighed with relief. "Great! That'll give me some time to catch up on my paperwork."

Mike nudged Henry. As they resumed walking, Mike looked back at Lucas. "We're going out to McSorley's tonight for drinks. I owe you one." He quickly turned and left before Lucas had a chance to say anything.

"What was that about?" Henry seemed curious.

"Long story." He didn't need to mention the bet to Henry. The immortal would definitely lecture the both of them on the evils of betting on human lives.

Mike turned to Henry and studied him as they walked to his office. He hadn't heard Henry call him "Hanson" in a year. For years, Henry had addressed him by his last name because he wasn't comfortable enough around him at the time. When Mike had learned of Henry's condition, he finally started calling the detective by his first name. Today, however, it seemed like Henry's mind had been reset to the years before Mike joined Henry's inner circle.

Mike might be new to the entire immortality business, but he was sure that Henry had never acted like this after a death before. Did something happen to him during his latest death or rebirth that no one knew about? If so, then Mike was scared about what it meant for everyone, including Henry.

They reached the office, and Henry changed coats. They wove their way through the halls until they reached the main floor and then the outside of the precinct. As they walked, Henry was unusually quiet, and the expression on his face grew more nervous by the minute.

The second that they stepped outside, Henry froze and turned pale. Wanting to know why he was terrified, Mike followed his gaze. Mike raised an eyebrow. Henry was staring at Bellevue's façade.

He tapped Henry on the shoulder and pointed toward Baruch College. Henry snapped out of his trance and turned toward the school.

As they crossed the street, Henry's reaction returned to Mike's mind. "Did you have a bad experience while you were in the hospital?"

The doctor sighed with relief. "Fortunately, I haven't. Everyone had demonstrated the type of care that one would expect from doctors and nurses." He thought for a moment. "The only bad experience that I had was with the food. Everything was rather unpalatable, and I found myself unable to eat much during my stay."

Mike chuckled as he remembered his own hospitalization years ago. "I don't have your fancy tastes, but I definitely agree with you about the food. It made me miss Karen's home cooking when I was in there."

He looked over and smiled. He was certainly looking more relaxed.

"How can I be of assistance?"

Mike inhaled. "Karen is Titus' thesis advisor." He felt his throat tightening. "I—."

"You want me to accompany you so I could lend some moral support."

That sounded more like Doc. "Yeah. She was shocked when I mentioned Brent Watkins' murder to her last night. I don't know how she'll react to this."

Henry nodded. "Well, I'll see what I can do."

Mike laid a hand on Henry's shoulder. It twitched under the detective's hand for a moment but finally stilled. Mike pushed the forming question aside. "Thanks."

For the remainder of the walk, Henry kept quiet. Once they stepped foot on the sidewalks of Baruch College, Mike watched Henry. He looked around his surroundings—almost like he was seeing everything for the first time.

Mike raised one eyebrow in concern. Henry had visited the college several times over the past few years, and he had learned the way to Karen's office by the end of his first visit. Mike forced the concern out of his mind; he needed to focus on what to say to his wife.

A few minutes later, they entered Karen's office. She sat at her desk, reading something on her computer. Mike stood at the door and admired her beauty.

She looked away from the screen and at him. "Hey, honey. What brings you here?" She looked past him and noticed Henry. She quickly grew solemn as she realized the purpose of their visit. "What's wrong?"

Mike took a deep breath as he and Henry sat down in the chairs in front of her desk. "We found Titus' body earlier this morning."

Her hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh, no." Tears formed in her eyes. "What happened?"

Henry shifted his weight in his chair. "We really don't know yet. We've been unable to find anything wrong with him so far, but we're currently waiting for the toxicology and lab reports. I hope that we will get them back soon." He paused. "I understand that he was one of your students, and I'm sorry for your loss."

Mike looked Karen in the eye. "Has Titus mention any problems in his life to you?"

She sighed as her eyes darted between the two men. "Nothing more than his need to pay off his loans for graduate school. He had been working somewhere for the past few months."

She looked at her husband. "He never said where. I've just assumed that he had found something through the career counselor's office. Anyways, a week and a half ago, we had learned that we've received a grant to explore the history of European shipping companies in the early 1800s and their impact on the ships' ports of origin and destination."

Mike glimpsed at Henry to see if he looked like he was planning to flee the country soon. Surprisingly, though, Doc sat unresponsively in his chair and looked attentively at Karen.

Karen continued, causing Mike to refocus on her. "Titus was so excited about it, and he told me that he was planning to quit his job early next week. His last day would have been next Tuesday."

"Is anyone else working on the dissertation with him?"

"No, it's just the two of us. He's the only student who is interested in his topic."

"Has he mentioned any friends to you?"

"He has mentioned hanging out with Natalie Daly. She's a fellow graduate student who's working with Sandra Cartwright in geography. They met while organizing one of Brent's lectures on Great Britain."

Mike nodded and made a mental note of the names so he could question them before he and Henry left.

Karen's nose started to turn red. Mike rose from his chair and walked around the desk to his now-standing wife. He embraced her while she sobbed into his shoulder.

"I don't know what to do."

"I know." He placed his hand on her head. "We'll catch these creeps." He held her until her tears stopped.

Mike pulled back and studied his wife. Any other investigator would suspect that she killed Titus for the research money. He knew otherwise. Karen's heart went out to all of her research assistants, and she tried everything in her power to ensure that their projects were funded. If anyone had reason to be suspicious of her, it was Henry—and only because she might inadvertently expose his long life in one of her research papers.

Karen's blue eyes attracted Mike's attention, and he instantly found himself entranced by her.

Before he could act, the desk's edge pressing against his waist quickly reminded him of his surroundings. He released her, instinctively smoothed his tie, and walked around the desk.

"I've got to go. Lieu will kill me if I'm not back in a couple of hours." He leaned over the desk, gave Karen one short, chaste kiss, and left her office. He strolled through the halls, intoxicated by their love—just like Henry and Jo today.

At the thought of Henry, Mike quickly sobered. Maybe he shouldn't pay his bet with Lucas yet. Henry seemed to have too many gaps in his memory. Tonight over drinks, Mike and Lucas could compare notes, and they could discuss how to bring up the topic of Henry's memory gaps to Abe and Jo.

To distract himself from the ME's surprising behavior, Mike returned his attention to the case. He listened for Henry's insights into either Karen and Titus' research topic or the two unsolved murders. Instead, Mike was greeted with the chatter of students changing classes.

Puzzled, he looked over to see where Henry was. Unfortunately, he wasn't by his side. Mike stopped and turned around, but Henry wasn't anywhere in sight.

Mike rolled his eyes and groaned. "Great! I've lost Doc!"

* * *

Henry was so engrossed in the page which he was reading that he barely heard a giggle. Startled, he snapped the book shut and quickly shelved it. As he turned to the giggle's source, he realized that he was still in Karen's office.

"I'm glad that you're feeling better." Karen smiled.

"Thank you." He wondered how much Hanson had told her about his hospitalization. Likely, it wasn't much.

He studied her for a moment, attempting to see if she looked familiar. He must have met her before, but he didn't recognize her. He began to feel awkward as he didn't know what to discuss with her.

He instantly remembered the reason for his visit. He surveyed the room, and he quickly saw that Hanson had already left to question Natalie and Sandra.

"I'm sorry. I have to leave." He chose his next words carefully to keep her from learning of his amnesia. "It was nice to see you again." He eased around the desk and exited the office.

Once outside, he noticed the halls teeming with students changing classes. He had no idea which way he needed to go. He took a deep breath and looked down the hallways. In one, he thought that he saw Hanson's back in the crowd of students. Hoping that he was right, he started down the passage.

His thoughts returned to the book. He had randomly selected it to give the Hansons some privacy. As he read the chapter that he had opened to, he quickly became interested in the information about London in the late 18th century. At times, the facts nettled something in his memory, but he promptly attributed it to remembering his history lessons from school.

Suddenly, he felt something push against him, and he took a step back. He shook himself out of his thoughts and discovered that he had bumped into someone. A man wearing a coat, gloves, and a peak cap—all in black leather—stood in his path. His eyes seemed to stare right into Henry's soul.

A very cold chill shot down Henry's spine and radiated throughout his body. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and a sudden urge to escape the man.

Henry threw his hands up. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Excuse me." He eased his way around the stranger and quickened his pace.

A few moments later, he heard a familiar voice. "Doc! There you are!"

He looked to the voice and smiled as Hanson appeared in the hallway. "I'm sorry. I was distracted."

Hanson laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come on. Let's finish these interviews before Lieu kills us both."

As they walked, Henry took one last look down the crowded hallway. The man in black leather had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Henry had no idea who the frightening stranger was. The only thing that he knew was that he never wanted to see the man again.

* * *

For the first time since he was released from the hospital, Henry was glad to return to the shop. He sped through the shop and hurried up the stairs. As he reached the top, he exhaled in relief. His earlier call to Abe had put his mind at ease at the time. When the train had passed the Broadway-Lafayette Street stop, his thoughts had returned to Titus' submerged car and to his concerns for Abe. Now, upon seeing Abe chop some mushrooms for their chicken Marsala tonight, Henry knew that his fear for his roommate's life was unwarranted.

Abe laid down the knife and looked up from his preparation. Henry quickly closed the distance and embraced the older man.

"What is this about?"

Henry felt his cheeks warm, pulled away, and inhaled. "I've been worried about you today."

"Is this because of the accident that you've told me about earlier?"

Henry nodded. "I've spent part of the day thinking that my amnesia could have caused you to—." He heard his voice waver and felt tears welling in his eyes.

Abe swallowed and nodded as tears formed in his own eyes. "It does worry me." He inhaled to steady his emotions and offered a small smile. "But, if it had caused anything bad to happen to me, you would've know about it long before now."

Henry returned Abe's smile.

"So, who died?"

Henry studied the ingredients on the island to calm his raging emotions. "A graduate student named Titus Forsyth. We found his car in a public swimming pool this morning. Detective Martinez called me before breakfast."

"That bad?" He looked at Henry with compassion. "If you need to be by yourself tonight, I understand. It has to be hard for you to not remember what you've seen over the years. To you, this is your first time seeing everything connected to your line of work."

"Thank you." He gave his roommate another hug and headed to the bedroom to change his clothes and to shower.

His face began to itch when he reached the hallway's entrance. He reached up to scratch his face, and his fingers ran through a thick, full beard. Maybe he needed to shave to rid himself of the extra facial hair as well.

Along the way to his room, Henry's thoughts returned to the case. Titus' death wasn't troubling him as much as the circumstances surrounding the investigation. Since the second that he had seen Titus' car, several details began to bother him. Before Titus' autopsy, Henry had frozen at the thoughts of the submerged car, his fears for Abe, the image of him being underwater, his decision to look at the evidence, and his words at the crime scene. After he had bumped into the stranger, he couldn't stop thinking about the man, his sudden fear of Bellevue's façade, and his fear of his amnesia's discovery. Everything prodded at something in his memory, but he didn't know what it was.

He wanted to quit the case. He was becoming too emotional, and he felt as though he was no longer in control of his actions and emotions. He had no idea how to reign them in so he could maintain his focus on the investigation.

He entered his room, and began to pull out his clothes for the night. He looked at his bed, and his thoughts returned to the start of the day. No, he couldn't quit. Detective Martinez wanted him to join her in this investigation. She needed assistance, and he must stay to help her.

The second that he made his decision, he felt himself relaxing. He was still amazed at Detective Martinez's power over him. Then again, love seemed to have a way to calm people.

Still, his objection was unusual. Why did he suddenly want to leave the investigation? He re-analyzed the day's events as he changed out of his clothes. The major source of his emotional turmoil today was Hanson's and Wahl's lack of knowledge about his amnesia. Ironically, his fear of exposure likely led one or both of them to discover it while he was with them today.

He sighed as he walked to the bathroom. They were his friends, and they needed to know about his amnesia as well. They wouldn't take him to Bellevue; Hanson had demonstrated that during their walk to Baruch College. Instead, they likely would react the same way that Abe, Detective Martinez, and Lt. Reece had when they had learned of it.

He would tell Wahl and Hanson about his memory issues the next time that he saw them. Hopefully, that would help him regain his control over himself so that he could focus on the case.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Yes! That "stranger" is Adam!

In case you're wondering as to why Lucas didn't join Henry and Mike on their way back to the office, he was busy celebrating.

On a composition note: I know that, when I'm writing from Hanson's point of view, I've been alternating between "Doc" and "Henry" when referring to our favorite immortal medical examiner. That method was getting a little unwieldy, so I changed it to what you've read above.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note** : There are references to the Pilot ,"The Pugilist Break", "6 A.M.", "The Man in the Killer Suit", "The Ecstasy of Agony", "Skinny Dipper", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", "Social Engineering", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

Jo turned her glass around with her fingertips and stared at the golden liquid in it. She wanted something stronger, but she didn't have the desire to order it.

Her thoughts drifted to Henry. When she was leaving the precinct, a confused uni had asked her if Henry needed to talk to a psychiatrist about his fear of the water, and the comment ruined the generally good mood that she had been in all day.

Henry's amnesia had been peeking out throughout their investigations. It, however, was much more obvious to everyone today, especially at the scene. With as much time as Henry had spent in the water over the course of his life, he was probably the only Morgan in history who had seemed to be truly "born of the sea" as his last name suggested.

Today was a different story. He had wanted to look at something in the submerged car, but she had _never_ expected to see him panic at the idea of swimming. It took her a second to realize that he had no memory of the instinct. She had wanted to step over to him and ask him if he was okay, but she couldn't act on it with their colleagues nearby.

"Come on, admit it. Using fake blood was a truly inspired idea." Jo turned and saw Lucas walk in with opened arms.

Mike, looking a little disgruntled, walked slightly in front of him. "You could have used ketchup. Hitchcock did."

Lucas rolled his eyes up, leaned his head back, and sighed in exasperation. "For the second time in three days, he used chocolate sauce to make it show up in black and white." Lucas stepped up to the table, pulled out a chair to her right, and sat down. "Besides, ketchup would have splattered all over the place when we broke the bags. I like the dramatic nature of it, but—."

Mike wedged himself between Jo and Lucas.

Her partner had planned to use her as a referee, and she didn't feel like hearing their argument. "Mike."

He raised his right eyebrow. "Seriously?"

She started to cock her head but then stopped. Her eyes slightly widened. She had just used the same tone of voice which once showed her annoyance at Henry's unorthodox methodology.

Mike's eyes darted from her glass and back to her. "Are you turning into a teetotaler?"

"No, I'm not." She sighed. "I'm just thinking about today."

Mike knelt beside her, placed his hands on the table, and lowered his voice. "Hey, what's wrong with Doc? He knows Karen, but he acts like he has no clue who she is. I haven't heard him call me 'Hanson' since I found out about his condition last year." He paused. "The guy's the strongest swimmer in both the NYPD and the OCME. I have _never_ seen him freak out like that. It seems as though something had erased his memories of swimming, Karen, and me."

Jo remained silent. Mike's comments were way too close to the truth.

Mike's voice pierced her thoughts. "Jo, how many times has Doc let CSU handle evidence that only he could see, even underwater?"

Jo refocused her attention to her glass and gave it another turn. "Once." That was only because he was arrested after he had tried to retrieve evidence while wearing only his underwear and the goggles that Mike and the rest of the NYPD had bought for him a few hours earlier.

Lucas leaned over and mirrored Mike. "I know. He's like a different person. He's been calling me 'Mr. Wahl', and he asked me a question that I had answered our first week of working together. He didn't seem to know how to conduct an autopsy on his first day back at work, but he somehow regained the knowledge. He's been spacing out more than he usually does. I think he's been avoiding Abe. The only time that he acts normally is when he's around you. Then again, you're like his Kryptonite."

Jo turned and stared at the chair that Henry always sat in since his first visit to McSorley's years ago. She was being thoughtless. She had been so worried about Henry that she had never mentioned what was going on to the two men who were his friends.

She turned and took a gulp of her drink. She set the half-empty glass down and focused her attention on their friends before rising from her seat. She snatched her coat from the back of the chair. "Come on."

Lucas looked at them. "Where are we going?"

She couldn't talk to them in here. "Henry and Abe's."

Both men rose from their seats as Jo fished her wallet out of her pants pocket and counted out the money that she needed to pay her bill. As they left their table, Jo wistfully looked back at Henry's seat. Hopefully, she, Henry, and Abe could provide them with the answers that they needed.

* * *

Abe sat down in a chair near the fireplace and removed the manila envelope from the end table. He inhaled as he braced himself for the doctors' findings. He nervously laid the packet in his lap and opened the flap.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and curiously looked at the number before answering it.

"Hey, Jo. What is it?... Okay…. Yeah, sure. I'm still up…. I'll see you in a few minutes."

As he hung up the phone and placed it back in his pocket, he glanced at the file. He sighed with equal parts trepidation and relief. The record's mysteries would wait for a while longer.

A few minutes later, Abe looked out the window and saw three people walk along the side of the shop. He quickly unlocked the door, stood to one side, reached up, and grasped the bell's clapper. He watched as Jo, Lucas, and Mike stopped and opened the door.

"Titus' parents are coming in from Topeka on Monday. Lieu doesn't want you to be involved in their interview because of your personal connection to Karen." Jo walked in and immediately turned toward the stairwell.

"I can live with that. It'll give me some more time to find out where he worked. Neither Natalie nor Sandra knew anything about that." Mike followed Jo's lead. "And it'll give me time to see if I can find a plumber."

"What happened?"

"Karen came home this afternoon, and she discovered that one of our pipes had burst. Water's all in our basement. When I called the plumbers, they all were closed for the weekend, if you can believe it. Anyway, we'll have to stay at a hotel until at least Monday."

Abe leaned back to avoid Lucas as he cleared the threshold and closed the door. "My grandmother would say that when it rains, it pours. It looks like, in your case, it's flooding."

Mike shot Lucas a withering look.

"Okay, that might have been a bit insensitive. I was just saying that, with Brent's and Titus' deaths and what's happened to Henry…"

The trio grew quiet at the mention of the older Morgan's name. Abe gently released the clapper and then wove his way around the antique-filled tables until he reached the door leading to the living area. He opened it and held it open until everyone entered the stairwell.

Once they reached the second floor, Abe ushered the group into the living room and lowered his voice so his father wouldn't hear them. "What's going on? You said that it's about Dad."

Everyone silently looked at each other for a minute. Finally, Lucas spoke up. "We don't know. I mean, you and Jo probably do, but"—he pointed to Mike and himself—"we don't. Henry's been acting weird lately. It's almost like he's been replaced by an alien clone that's been tasked to send intelligence on us Earthlings to the home planet—"

 _What?_

"He hasn't." Mike interjected. "It's more like he's been given some weird version of U.N.C.L.E.'s Capsule B that's erased his memories for longer than 72 hours."

"Guys!" Jo's stern voice sent a cold chill down Abe's spine. Luckily, Lucas and Mike's argument stopped before Dad could hear it.

Abe remembered his father's mood when he had come home. He mentally slapped himself on the forehead. _Why didn't I see this earlier?_

Abe looked at Jo, and their eyes met. He wished that Dad was in here to tell them. The man, however, needed to work through his feelings before he admitted the truth to anyone.

Abe inhaled. Hopefully, Dad would forgive him for this. "He has amnesia."

Both men stared at him, their mouths hanging open. Mike finally uttered, "What?!"

Jo nodded. "He told us the other day after I interviewed him about William's, Brent's, and Gene's murders. He was terrified to mention it then."

Lucas reached behind his head. "Do we know what's causing it?"

Abe looked at him. "I've just obtained his medical records today, but I haven't read them yet. I've spent my day with the Frenchman and at lunch with Fawn." Abe suddenly remembered his parents' conversation about their neighbor's stroke when he was a boy. "We do know that it happened suddenly, so we can rule out quite a few causes, like a tumor and dementia."

Jo turned to Abe. "So, it could be from some sort of physical or psychological trauma, right?"

"Exactly."

"How are we going to jog his memory? I mean, it'll take time for him to recover from the trauma, but we can't wait too long for his memory to return."

Abe gulped. She made an excellent point. Dad had all the time in the world, but they didn't. He needed his memories back so that he could enjoy his time with them before the inevitable happened.

Mike straightened his posture. "Pictures?"

Abe wistfully glanced at the mantle before answering. "He was a bit freaked when he looked at our family photograph from 1946 last night. We have a couple of tintypes and daguerreotypes of him, but I can imagine how freaked he'll be if he saw one of them."

"Music?"

Abe inhaled. "He didn't recognize _The Flying Dutchman_ when we went to the opera last Sunday, and, when he first came home from the hospital, he replaced a Beethoven record with a jazz one. That's not to say that I didn't mind…."

Jo thought for a moment. "It's too bad that we all are working. We could take him to various places around the city and see what he remembers that way."

That actually might work—if Dad could get the time off. Given the OCME's recent shortage of assistant medical examiners and Dad's disappearance and hospitalization, Abe wasn't sure if Dad's boss would let him have a few days of vacation time to "explore" New York.

Mike sharply inhaled. "When we visited Karen, he acted like he was seeing the campus for the first time. And he nearly panicked at the sight of Bellevue when we left the precinct."

Lucas grew excited. "How about hypnosis? We could take his watch"—he pantomimed the motion of a swinging pocket watch—"and—."

"No! We could create a false memory, or we could inadvertently trigger something from his days in Bedlam. As far as we know, we might even plant a weird suggestion in Dad's head that we would never be able to get rid of."

Mike raised his hand toward Abe. "I've been meaning to ask this, but where's Doc's watch?"

"It's beside my bed. I loaned him mine, and he promised me that he'll take care of it while he wears it."

Mike breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucas looked at everyone. "We could kill him."

That could work also, if they knew the cause. "If there's a psychological basis to Dad's amnesia, it won't work."

Everyone stared at Abe.

"Why do you think he still has his trust issues after every death?"

Everyone uttered some variation of "Good point."

Jo bit her lower lip. "Tell him?"

Abe looked away for a moment. Nora's disbelief had led to Dad's desperation to show her that he was immortal, and that ended badly for Dad. What if history repeated itself?

Abe inhaled and hoped that he was making the right decision. He looked back at the trio. "We don't."

Jo, Lucas, and Mike stared at him in disbelief.

He waved a hand. "Hear me out. If he thinks we're crazy, he'll probably schedule appointments at Bellevue for all of us. But, if his scientific curiosity's aroused, he could try to prove it to himself, and someone might catch him in the act. We have no idea if they would try to take him to Bellevue or if they would kidnap him so that they can experiment on him. We can't afford to take that chance."

They slowly nodded their heads in agreement.

Lucas looked over at Abe with a rare set of tears appearing in his eyes. "When we were talking about his swims in the East River earlier today, he told me that immortality doesn't exist." His voice began to waver in disappointment. "So, I guess telling him wouldn't work."

The room became quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

Abe sighed. Due to the complexities of Dad's long life, this was going to be harder than they thought. Abe wished for an easier way to jog Dad's memory.

"Detective Martinez, what are you doing here?"

Everyone turned to the living room's entrance. Dad, dressed in one of his NYPD t-shirts and his boxer shorts, stood in the threshold. Curls sprouted from where his brown hair had laid flat an hour earlier. His clean-shaven face showed a touch of red on his cheeks.

"I…. Umm.…" Jo's speechlessness reminded Abe that this was her first time seeing his father showered, shaved, and in his usual nightwear.

Mike looked at the immortal. "Doc, why didn't you tell us?"

Dad nervously glanced down at the ground. "I didn't want to go to Bellevue as a psychiatric patient."

The air suddenly left the room as everyone processed his words.

Anger toward Nora filled Abe. He wanted to go back in time and try to talk some sense into her. By sending Dad to Bedlam, she had created a fear in him that was so powerful that he didn't want to seek out help and support when he needed it the most.

Abe looked at his father as he walked past them, and the anger dissipated as quickly as it arose. Nora had died a long time ago, and there was nothing that Abe or anyone else could do to prevent Dad's pain. All they could do was to be with him now and try to help him in spite of his fear.

The older Morgan continued as he sat down on the sofa. "I thought that I could learn about my past and that I could jog my memories on my own. Apparently, in spite of a few things that had felt familiar, I've been unable to do so. I'm sorry, everyone."

He looked at Jo with tears forming in his eyes and his hands clasped in front of him. "I had told you a few things about myself when you had asked me what I remembered the other day. There are some facts that I've deduced—with Abe's help—which rendered some details inaccurate. I—."

Jo walked over to the coffee table and sat down on it. "It's okay. I know."

Dad wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion.

She looked at him, reached out, and took his clasped hands. "Don't worry about it."

Dad's shoulders relaxed at the sound of Jo's calm, quiet voice. He looked down and studied their hands for a moment before looking back up at her. His eyes were still filled with worry and sadness, but it seemed as though any fears that he had were slowly subsiding.

She looked him in the eye and held his gaze. "What feels familiar to you?"

He inhaled. "Aside from my lone memory of witnessing William's murder and my knowledge of medicine, forensic pathology, lock picking, British English, Spanish, New York apartments built before the 1950s, and Spitalfields?"

Jo nodded.

"There have been several snippets of conversation and a couple of thoughts which have felt familiar, and I've had several vague images flash in front of my eyes lately while I've been working."

"Snippets of conversation? Such as?"

"The story about my father and Abe being business partners. Abe being like family to me. Affording expensive suits on a salary and saving money over the years. Being the slowest typist ever. Something being a story for another time. The names Sean and Charing Cross. What I had told you about myself the other night."

He paused. "I've also thought that I heard my own voice tell someone about being a somnambulist and sleeping naked"—everyone held back chuckles at that statement as they remembered Lt. Reece's reaction to Dad's immortality—"and, while we were at the pool, Hanson's voice about contaminating the crime scene".

He began to chuckle before solemnly turning to Lucas. "I've even gotten the familiar impression that I sometimes don't understand what you're talking about."

As he spoke, everyone recognized each statement that was familiar to that individual. Jo's eyes widened at the first comment and remained wide the entire time. It was as if she remembered most of them herself.

Jo blinked. "And the images?"

He suddenly looked nervous again, but he kept his eyes on Jo. "I've seen myself underwater and desperately needing air today while we were at the pool."

Abe crossed his arms and shifted his weight. That sounded like one of Dad's awakenings. Without a context, though, it was impossible to know which one it was.

"In another flash, I stood in a threshold. A woman wanted to know about the object in my hand and about me while the man behind me was lending his moral support. I told her that it was a long story before letting her in."

Jo broke her gaze and looked amazedly at Abe. That was the day that Dad had told her about his immortality.

She turned back to him. "Go on."

"I've felt as though you've interrogated me once before and that I somehow had proven my innocence. I also have seen myself standing behind something twice. In one image, I stood on one side of my autopsy table with a man and a woman, and we spoke with another man. In the other one, I stood behind a desk with a man while two women watched us."

The two detectives and Lucas look at each other in astonishment. The younger Morgan didn't know what Dad was talking about, but they appeared to recognize his images.

Still surprised, Jo looked back at Abe. "With the exceptions of his medical and forensic knowledge, British English, Spanish, and Spitalfields, they either are from our cases or our activities after work."

"They're memories?!" Dad opened his mouth, and his wide eyes darted around the room in stunned disbelief.

Abe could barely believe his ears. "When did this start?"

Dad turned to him. "My knowledge began to return when Dr. Patel had entered my hospital room to examine me, but I had thought nothing of it at the time. I had first experienced a sense of familiarity when Neil Shapiro and I discussed my relationship with you last week. When I had returned to work, I started having the fla—memories. After our conversation regarding my deductions about my life at breakfast yesterday, the sense of familiarity has sharply increased, and the memory of my standing in the threshold returned last night."

Abe's eyes widened in surprise. It sounded as though Dad's daily life had caused several memories to spontaneously surface.

He looked at the older man. He should be thrilled about the start of his memory's return. Instead, Dad still looked worried about something.

Jo sensed it too. "What's wrong?"

He inhaled as he turned back to her. "This case has been troubling me almost all day. Various elements have been nettling something in my memory, but I don't know why I should know them."

Abe thought about what Dad had shared about the latest investigation earlier in the evening, and Abe suddenly recognized the potential trigger. Was there a chance that Dad was subconsciously remembering the time that Adam had kidnapped him and manipulated him into killing Clark Walker throughout the day today? He was terrified back then, and it could explain his behavior today.

Jo's voice pierced Abe's thoughts and caused him to turn his attention back to the pair. "It'll come soon enough."

Dad sat in silence for a moment, his eyebrows knitted together in thought. "Do you suppose that some of my memories could intrude into daydreams?"

Abe's curiosity was aroused. "Sure. Why?"

Dad suddenly swallowed. "I've had four daydreams recently. Two were about life aboard ships, one was about living in a house with antique furniture, and one was about life in a town called A Coruña. I've believed that most of the elements have originated from my thoughts and the events of the day, but I'm not sure where some of the features, such as A Coruña, have come from."

Confused, Jo and Abe looked at each other. A house filled with antique furniture and ships could be from any memory that dated from birth to as recently as 1946. As for A Coruña, this was the first time that Abe had ever heard Dad mention the town to him.

Abe looked at his father. Like Dad's awakening, Abe didn't know what the older man was remembering without more details. "I don't know. They could."

He studied his father. Dad seemed a little calmer now.

As much as they had reason to celebrate, Abe knew that this had been a stressful day for Dad, and he would have difficulty resting tonight. The younger Morgan turned and went into the kitchen to make some warm milk for his father.

* * *

Abe inhaled as he removed a saucepan from the hook and set it on the stove. Questions of whether they had made the right decision to hide Dad's immortality from him raced through Abe's mind. If his amnesia was short-lived, Dad would remember the events that had brought him into their lives soon.

Abe's breath caught in his throat as he thought of the alternative. If his memory issues weren't resolved in fifteen or twenty years, Dad would know that something was different about him when everyone else would show the signs of aging and he wouldn't. If he still couldn't remember his past when everyone around him died—. Abe closed his eyes to keep himself from thinking about his father's reaction to that event.

"Let me." Abe opened his eyes and saw Jo standing next to him. She held two mugs in one hand and the carton of milk in the other. She set the mugs down on the island, opened the carton, and poured the milk into the pan. Her authoritative manner prompted him to step aside and to let her take over.

 _Two mugs_. Surely, she wasn't preparing a cup of warm milk for herself; she still needed to drive home. Abe became pretty certain that the second mug was meant for him.

He stared at her curiously. Her taking his hand when he had told her about his suspicions of Dad's amnesia, letting Dad call him when Dad had thought that he was in an accident, and her holding his hood to show him how to wear it were perfectly understandable. Her smoothing his hood and now this—.

He leaned over as she turned on the stove and closed the carton. "What's up with the mothering all of a sudden?"

"We're not the only ones going through this." Her calm, soft voice instantly stopped him from investigating the matter any further.

He stepped aside to let her have her space, and he turned toward the living room. His thoughts quickly went back to the fifth day after Dad had revealed his condition to her. She had taken a rare lunch break and had come to the shop to talk to him. She asked him how he did it over the years. Her matter-of-fact voice and her concerned expression made him realize that she wasn't seeking his advice. She wanted to know how his father's condition had affected him. With a sigh and with likely the same amount of nervousness that his father had felt a few days earlier, Abe told her everything from the sadness that he had felt when he had to call Dad "Henry" in public for the first time to the frustration that he had felt every time that he had tried to convince his father of life's goodness over the previous thirty years. Surprisingly, Jo had taken it quite well, and, over the years, she had always checked on him after one of Adam's threats or after one of Dad's more public deaths to see if he was okay.

Abe chuckled. He must had picked up one of Dad's bad habits. He never should had tried to through this alone. The way that Jo was treating him now made him wish that he had told her his suspicions sooner.

He looked at his father to see how he was doing. Abe jumped when he realized that the immortal was staring at him with a concerned look on his face.

Abe immediately knew why as he averted his gaze. Even in his state, Dad was worried about him like he always had. It was almost as if one memory of their father-son relationship had refused to succumb to whatever had caused the amnesia and was fighting to reach the surface.

He smiled as he turned his attention back to the older man. This time, Dad was staring past Abe—and right at Jo. Admiration and adoration filled his face.

Abe looked back at Jo as she turned off the stove. The last time that Dad had stared at a woman like that, it was at Mom, and that was the night before she had left them.

The younger Morgan looked back and forth at the pair. _Did they figure out what I think they did? If so, talk about your timing!_ Maybe Lucas was right, though; they probably didn't need dates to fall in love and to become a couple.

Abe suddenly felt something being pressed into his hand. He instinctively wrapped his hand around the object. Curious as to what he was holding, he looked down and saw a mug in it.

He turned his attention to Jo. Her eyes pleaded for him to drink its contents. He took one sip and detected vanilla extract and a hint of turmeric powder in the milk.

Abe looked back in the living room. Mike and Lucas sat on the sofa next to Dad. He looked rather agitated as they quizzed him on everything about themselves.

Abe sat the mug on the island and took the other from Jo's hand. "I'll drink mine later."

She defiantly stared at him.

He nodded toward the duo. "Do you want those two to get him to bed?"

She tried to stifle a much-needed giggle, but the image coaxed it out of her. "Thanks."

He patted her on the shoulder as he headed into the living room. When he had reached the men, he cleared his throat. All three men stopped their conversation and looked at him. He stretched out the mug and offered it to his father. "She made this for you. It might help you relax."

Hopefully, Dad's sophisticated palette wouldn't detect the ingredients. Abe did _not_ want the memory of the time that Dad had spiked the security guard's coffee with antacid to get him to talk to come back now. That one had been known to keep Dad awake all night under normal circumstances.

Dad accepted it and rose it to his lips. After a few seconds, he lowered the cup. "Family recipe, Detective?"

"Personal one." Jo's voice told of many sleepless nights and the warm milk being the only thing to help her sleep.

He smiled. "It's quite delicious. Thank you for making it." Without another word, he took another, much longer sip.

Abe glanced at Dad's medical record while Dad drank. He should look at it to find a physical reason for the amnesia. His father's placement of the mug onto the coffee table stopped Abe the second that he stepped toward the end table that had the file.

After Abe picked up the mug, he started back to the kitchen. Jo blocked his path. She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. "The record and the dishes can wait."

At the sound of her firm voice, Abe reluctantly handed her the mug and walked to one of the chairs near the fireplace. She was right; he didn't need to focus on them now. A few moments later, Jo joined them and took the other chair.

For a couple of minutes, they discussed why a healthy 24-year-old college student would drive a car into a public swimming pool. Abe eventually looked over at his father. Dad wasn't following the conversation, and he yawned as he struggled to keep his eyes open. In a couple of more minutes, he would be asleep.

Abe rose from his chair, walked to his father, and gestured for him to stand. Wordlessly and obediently, Dad followed Abe's order and walked around Mike's legs. Abe draped one of his father's arms around his neck and then wrapped his arm around his father's waist. He then escorted the immortal out of the room and toward his bedroom.

* * *

Halfway down the hallway, Abe heard his father's breathing rhythm change slightly. "I must apologize to Jo for falling asleep in front of her when I return to work tomorrow. Would you tell her good night for me?"

Abe stopped and stared at his father. Dad had confessed that he had no idea who Jo was when he had detailed his memory issues the other day. In addition, Abe was sure that he was the only person who had called her by her first name lately when talking to Dad about her. Yet, tonight, somehow, Dad had connected the name with the woman herself.

Dad's shifting weight quickly reminded Abe of how relaxed he was. Abe readjusted himself to accommodate it and finished the walk to Dad's room.

Abe opened the door and walked him through it. A few steps later, they arrived at the bed. As Abe released his father's arm, Dad submissively pulled away and slowly sat down on the bed. Abe looked at his father. Dad's eyes finally closed. Abe took his feet and laid him down.

"Thank…" Dad's soft voice trailed off as his head landed on his pillow.

Abe went to his room and pulled a blanket out of his drawers. When he returned, Abe noticed his father's slow breathing. Abe covered him up and left the room.

As he closed the door, he took one last look at his father and smiled. Hope rose up in him for the first time since this incident began.

Remembering his promise to Jo, Abe started back for the kitchen. About halfway through the hallway, his elation deflated somewhat. Dad's drowsy gaze and his slow movements indicated that he was practically sleepwalking and that he probably wouldn't remember his comment tomorrow morning. Abe sighed. He wished that the connection wasn't subconscious in nature.

He stepped into the kitchen and watched Jo pour his milk back into his mug. He smiled again. A subconscious connection was still a connection. All they needed was something— _anything_ —to push it into Dad's consciousness.

She looked at him. "Mike and Lucas went home. They said to call them if you need anything."

Abe nodded. The two "brothers" must had been worried about both Morgan men also.

Dad's words came back to him. "Dad said good night."

She smiled as she brought the mug to the table. Abe unquestioningly complied with her unspoken order and sat down in his seat.

Jo looked at him as she sat down in Dad's chair. "What now?"

Dad calling Jo by her first name echoed in Abe's head. "I think that everything's still there, but something has been blocking it. When the blockage fully clears, he should get his memory back."

She glanced down as she took his words into consideration. "You're getting that from the few things that he does remember." It seemed as though she wanted to believe him but that it would take some time for her to do so.

He wanted her to know for sure. He opened his mouth to tell her what had happened in the hallway. The way that he imagined the scenario, however, stopped him. It would mean more to her if she heard Dad call her by her first name than if Abe had told her about it.

Abe took a long sip of his milk and instantly relaxed. "I have to get your recipe."

She smiled as he started another taste. "We always added sugar and nutmeg to our warm milk when I was growing up. When I first joined the force, I couldn't sleep one night. I started to make the milk, and turmeric powder was the only spice that I had on hand. It turns out that I liked it that way."

As Abe finished the last swallow, he could tell that this would be Dad's favorite way to get to sleep from now on. Abe set the cup onto the table. "Dad has the same recipe that your family does. I think that he picked it up in Russia."

"I would like to hear about it sometime."

Abe nodded and hoped that the time would come very soon.

He looked at her and noticed her tired expression. She needed her rest from the day's events as well. "You know, you're welcome to spend the night here."

She smiled sadly and inhaled. "I'm afraid that it might confuse him, and I don't want that. Thanks, though."

A second later, he remembered what happened to Dad. "Maybe I should turn in for the night before the warm milk kicks in."

She reached out and squeezed his hands. "I'll lock up when I leave. Don't worry about a thing."

"Thanks."

He rose from his seat as she released his hands and headed for his room. Before he stepped into the hallway, he took one last look at Jo. She removed his mug from the table and took it to the sink.

As he walked to his room, he heard the water running. He quickly pushed any thoughts of helping her with the dishes out of his mind. It had been ages since someone had cared for him this way, and he had almost forgotten how comforting it was. Under ordinary circumstances, he would protest. He was too old for it, and caring for his father was his way of thanking the British doctor for giving a Jewish orphan born in Auschwitz a second chance at a normal life.

Yet, the woman mothering him was Jo. She knew of the unusual circumstances and had been trying to look out for the both of them. Then again, it was second nature to her as she had been doing it since she had first met them.

When he opened the door to his room, he blinked as the warm milk began to take effect. He hastily pulled down his covers, removed his shoes, and laid down. As his eyelids grew heavy, he felt that, tonight, things were starting to turn around for the better. Dad remembered a few details about his life, and, maybe, when this was over, he and Jo could finally go on their long-overdue first date.

The last thing that Abe knew as he fell asleep was that he heard the soft ringing of the shop's bell as Jo left for the night.


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note** : As I wrote this chapter, I realized that I would be publishing it the same week that I had written and published Chapter 1 a year ago. Then, I was so nervous about sharing this story with you, and I didn't know what to expect. Now, I'm very glad that I published it and that you are enjoying it so far. Thank you all for your reviews, comments, suggestions, theories, favorites, follows, and even jokes.

That said, I am definitely not finished with the story yet. As for this chapter, I hope that you will enjoy it.

There are references to "Look Before You Leap", "Fountain of Youth", "6 A.M.", "New York Kids", "The King of Columbus Circle", "Memories of Murder", "Best Foot Forward", "The Night in Question", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

It was only coffee. Why, then, was he so nervous?

Henry let one whiff of the still steaming caffè latte in his hand remind him of his mission. The coffee was a present for Detective Martinez. While walking to the coffee shop near the OCME this morning, he had decided to buy it for her. He initially had no idea what type she preferred. As he studied the options on the board behind the cash register, one particular aroma coming from another person's order immediately stood out—and it wasn't Henry's personal preference of espresso. He instantly wanted to associate the remarkable smell with Detective Martinez. Remembering the other customer's order, Henry requested a similar cup and one of his own liking when he had reached the register.

The pleasant blend of the coffees' aromas filled his nose and pulled him out of his memory. He smiled as he wove his way through the hallway with his treasure, carefully avoiding the passing officers to preserve the cups' contents. Recognized. Not felt or assumed. He _remembered_ the aroma from another cup of caffè latte that she had in his past.

His smile faded, and he sighed. Maybe he was wrong about Detective Martinez's preference. Yesterday, she had taken her coffee the same way as his, both in the car and in the OCME's break room. Perhaps they had similar tastes in hot beverages, and she would have a negative reaction to his gift.

The entrance to Detective Martinez's and Hanson's work area was in sight. He would find out whether she was receptive to his gesture soon enough.

In spite of his nervousness about his gift, he felt quite tranquil. His smile returned as he remembered the reason for his relaxed mood. Since he had woken up in the hospital, the events of each day and the questions about his life had haunted him in the quiet hours before bed. When he finally drifted off, he fell into a dreamless, uneasy sleep. The other night was the only time in which he had been able to relax in the minutes before sleep and to enjoy at least one pleasant dream.

Last night was different. Just as Abe and Detective Martinez had entered the kitchen, Wahl and Hanson flopped down on either side of him and assailed him with questions to which he didn't have the answers. To take his mind off of his distress, he diverted his attention to the kitchen. Henry looked at Abe and began to worry that his recent comments had added yet another burden on his roommate's shoulders. Within the next few seconds, Abe startled as their eyes met.

Embarrassed, Henry quickly turned his attention to the island and noticed a mug. Curious as to why one was needed, he looked at the stove and observed Detective Martinez watching a saucepan. He didn't know what she was preparing, but the mug's future contents were meant for him.

He hated his condition. Because of it, she was tending to him. It was his honor and delight to care for her; it shouldn't be the other way around.

He glanced back at the island to calm himself. He blinked at the sight. He was mistaken; there were _two_ mugs sitting on it.

He looked back at Detective Martinez. He doubted that the second mug was for her; instead, it was intended to be for Abe.

As he studied her, he marveled at the woman. She must have sensed his worries about his amnesia and about Abe, and she wanted him to take his mind off his troubles. At the same time, she was concerned for Abe's well-being as well. So, she took it upon herself to take care of them, and she would not allow herself rest until she had completed her mission.

A sense of wonder surged in him as she finished the dish. He was accustomed to seeing her chase suspects and question witnesses but not to seeing this. Yet, tonight, in a simple act of domesticity, she was demonstrating her strength through compassion toward him and his roommate. At that moment, he wanted to walk over to her and to tell her how her tenderheartedness pleasantly surprised him, but he feared that she would stop her task if he did.

Another wave of familiarity washed over him during his thoughts. He had said something similar to her once before, and she was quite pleased with his comments then.

He should let her know how he felt now. He shifted his weight so that he could stand up.

At that moment, Wahl's and Hanson's seemingly endless barrage of questions forced him to move back to his original position. As much as he cared for them, he wished that their questions would cease. He had _just_ learned that the waves of familiarity that he had been experiencing and his flashes were, in fact, memories. How did they expect him to know the answers to their questions when he could scarcely tell them about himself?

Fortunately, Abe arrived with a steaming mug before Henry could snap at either man sitting beside him and say something regrettable. Wanting Detective Martinez to get her rest, he dutifully lifted it to his lips and took a sip of its contents. To his surprise, the mug contained milk. It wasn't plain milk, though; it had a rich, sweet flavor with a slightly bitter taste which enhanced the sweetness. As he swallowed the welcomed warm liquid, the worrisome thoughts about the day's events vanished from his mind.

After he finished his drink, he wanted to go over and talk to her, but he didn't feel like moving. His mind began to drift, and, as she sat down in a chair opposite him, he found himself thinking about how embarrassed he was when she saw him in his night wear. Before he could analyze the expression on her face at that moment, the line of thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

As everyone around him talked, he felt his eyes growing heavy with each passing second. He blinked to keep them open, but that only momentarily helped. If the milk was intended to help him sleep, it certainly was doing its job. He willed himself to stay awake to tell her an idea that evaporated the instant that it had appeared in his mind. His thoughts then suddenly stilled. Within the next second, a need for sleep overwhelmed him, and he unhesitatingly gave up his resistance to it.

The first rays of sunlight shone on his face and gently woke him up. He was so calm and relaxed that he didn't startle when he observed that he was in his bed. How did he get there?

The night's events drifted back into his consciousness. With the exception of one brief moment, he had no idea what had happened after he decided to surrender to the need for sleep. He let the memory of that moment pass without analysis and drift out of his thoughts for the time being.

As he laid there, he didn't want to move a muscle for fear that the feeling would promptly leave him. It was incredible to have all of his worries and concerns be far removed from his mind. He wished that he could remain in bed and feel this way forever—or, at least, for the rest of the day.

The ticking clock in the living room eventually reminded him that he still had one more day of work before his day off on Sunday. He reluctantly rose from his bed and walked into the kitchen to see if Abe was up. Abe's back greeted him, and Henry walked over to see what his roommate was staring at. To both men's surprise, Detective Martinez had washed and put away the previous night's dishes for them before she had left last night.

The sounds of the detectives' work area snapped him out of his memory. Henry homed in on Detective Martinez's desk and walked over to it. He sighed. He had wanted to present her with the coffee in person, yet she wasn't there.

Did she have the day off? He looked at her chair. Her coat hung over the back of the chair and accentuated a familiar-looking, soft maroon scarf that was draped over it. His hopes rose. She was here today, but she had left her desk to do something else.

The warmth of the beverages radiating out from the cups' cardboard wrappers jolted Henry out of his thoughts. He couldn't wait very long for her return. The heat of the coffee would dissipate, and she would certainly dislike his gift if it was cold.

He should leave a note to let her know that he was here. He eased around her desk and found a place for the cups on top of the paper-strewn surface. He visually searched for a notepad, but he couldn't see one. She must have one to take notes on.

He gently lifted each stack of papers, taking care as to not disturb her work. How could she find anything in this mess?

He heard the words echo with his voice changing the personal pronoun. He felt the corners of his mouth lift, and he stifled a laugh of joy. He had no idea who he was talking to in the past, but he remembered his words to that person.

As he lifted the last stack of papers, he sighed. He couldn't find a notepad anywhere. He glanced over at Hanson's organized desk. The other detective probably wouldn't mind if he took a piece of paper from him.

Henry stepped over to Hanson's desk and immediately found a pad. After checking for notes, he carefully removed a clean sheet and headed back for Detective Martinez's desk. He laid the paper down and quickly found a pen in her pen holder.

He uncapped it, held it over the paper, and stopped. He had no idea which name to use for her. He clearly remembered that he had called her "Jo" while he and Abe had stood in the hallway last night. The use of the name, both then and now, felt so natural—almost like he had been calling her by that name for years.

He shook his head. It was an association that he had been trying to make since his hospitalization, and, recently, several deductions about his life had been proven wrong. He couldn't take the chance of calling her "Jo" and learning that it wasn't her name.

The vague memory of Abe's reaction abruptly returned. The older man had never said a word. In fact, it seemed as though he had suddenly stopped in surprise at Henry's comment. Was there a possibility that the association of "Jo" with Detective Martinez was really a memory?

Henry looked at the desk. There was a nameplate near the edge. It would have her first name written on it. He gently reached around the coffees with his free hand and placed his hand on it.

Suddenly, the voices of two patrol officers from the scene of Titus' death yesterday filled the air. Desiring to avoid their questions about his amnesia, Henry quickly withdrew his hand and eased it back toward him. He sighed. He would have to continue using Detective Martinez for the time being.

He rapidly scribbled the note and read it. His words, and especially his closing, seemed florid, but it succinctly told her how he felt. He carefully folded the note, addressed it to her, and returned the pen to the pen holder.

Now, which cup of coffee was hers? He reached toward one but hesitated. He wished that he knew which one to give her.

He looked down in thought when he suddenly noticed the trash can beside her desk. Among the papers and food wrappers, he saw several discarded coffee cups. _What if…?_

He leaned over, fished one cup out of the can, and opened it. To his pleasant surprise, the trace amount of liquid in the bottom of the cup was lighter in color than his espresso.

The evidence was circumstantial, but it was proving that he was correct. To be certain, he lifted the cup to his nose. "This is weird, even for me."

The second that the words left his mouth, he heard Detective Martinez's— _Jo's?_ —voice echoing the majority of them. He shook his head in pleasure. It was another faint memory.

Remembering his task, he sniffed the cup's cold contents. The faint odor of soured milk filled his nostrils. Pleased with his findings, he closed the cup and set it back in the trash.

He could see why she liked caffè lattes. The warm milk was an acceptable way to ease the tensions associated with her job, and the caffeine in the coffee kept her from falling asleep while performing her duties. In addition, the flavor of the beans was likely delightful on her tongue.

As he straightened his posture, his heart clenched at the sight of the cups in the can. How many cups did she drink because of his amnesia? He wished that his memory would return so that she wouldn't worry about him.

He averted his eyes to maintain his composure, and they landed back on Hanson's desk. The memory of him standing at another desk with a man next to him and two women watching them returned, this time slightly sharper than when he had first seen it. This time, he could actually see the calculations that he was making and hear himself reason out loud.

He blinked in disbelief. Was it true? Was he _really_ starting to regain his memory?

Henry's eyes darted from desk to desk. As he regained his composure, he smiled. Just within the past few minutes, several small details from his life's events had come back. At the rate that he was going, everything should return soon.

The aroma of the two coffees and the sound of Lt. Reece's voice drifting into the area rapidly reminded him of his job downstairs. He carefully set the note next to the caffè latte, removed his espresso from Detective Martinez's— _Jo's?_ —desk, and headed for the elevators. As much as he would have liked to stay to see the look on her face when she received his gift, he needed to leave; he still had work to do.

* * *

Jo needed coffee— _now_.

It was bad enough that there was a long line in her favorite coffee shop. It was worse that, when she had arrived at work, the break room was out of it, and the person in there had just started a new pot. She wanted to run to the nearby coffee shop, but she was already on the clock.

She yawned as she walked down the hallway leading to the bullpen. She hadn't been able to get much sleep last night. When she had left Henry and Abe's, a part of her wanted to celebrate. Henry had regained a few memories on his own, and, surprisingly, most of them had her in them.

She swallowed as she started her car and drove home. All of his regained memories were from the past few years. His daydreams about ships and antique furniture could contain elements from his more distant past, but, as far as she could tell, nothing from the rest of his long life had returned yet.

She wished she could have Abe's optimism that Henry would regain his memory within their lifetimes. Henry had endured so much hurt in his long life, and he had been known to push the painful memories out of his thoughts for decades—at least. If he had recently experienced a psychological trauma that involved his immortality, he could have suppressed the memories of his entire life to keep his secret. Unfortunately, it could take centuries for him to recover from his experiences and to remember his past.

Jo sighed. She hoped that Henry's amnesia was a physical injury, but that was almost as problematic as an emotional trauma. He sincerely believed that he was mortal, and, based on what she had seen in the field lately, he was taking the same precautions as everyone else to stay safe. If, while still suffering from amnesia, he managed to survive thirty to forty years without a single death…

She fought back tears. She wished that she could tell him about his past to quicken his recovery process, but she couldn't. There were things that he had lived through and had done which he had never told her. He didn't want to hide it from her. He just never had the time or the reason to bring it up in conversation.

Even if she did know everything, he wouldn't believe her if she told him. His story sounded so unbelievable because of the miraculous event that had changed his life forever. Idealistically, he should believe her, especially since he had seen proof of it in the form of his family photo and in the scar on his chest. He, however, was a skeptic by nature, and, if Jo were to tell him the truth about himself, he wouldn't accept it without absolute proof.

A second yawn escaped and stopped her thoughts. She needed to awake up. Maybe she could go back to the break room in a few minutes and get some freshly-brewed coffee.

She walked through the threshold of the bullpen and toward her desk. She cocked her head in curiosity. Somehow, a cup of coffee had materialized on her desk while she was away.

She braced herself as she walked around her desk and noticed a note next to the cup. Unexpected gifts usually did not bode well for them.

She inhaled. If the note contained Adam's print letters, she needed to take the cup downstairs and ask Henry and Lucas to analyze the contents. She didn't want to be drugged or poisoned, and that was the last thing that Henry needed right now.

The moment that she recognized Henry's perfect penmanship, she instantly relaxed. It was almost as if he had sensed that she needed the coffee.

Jo took one sip of the welcomed beverage and rolled her eyes up in delight. The coffee was still quite warm. Apparently, Henry had bought it just a few minutes ago.

Knowing him, he wouldn't leave anything without a note of explanation about it. She picked up the note, opened it, and read:

" _Dearest Detective,_

" _I sincerely apologize for falling asleep on you last night. The first sip of the warm milk that you had prepared instantly relaxed me, and it was so delicious that I wanted to finish every drop. I had desired to thank you again for the beverage, but I never was presented with the opportunity to do so. As everyone else talked, the calming effects of the ingredients had begun to lull me to sleep._

" _Nevertheless, last night, I had my first restful night's sleep in a long while. I believe that it wasn't only the warm milk that had taken away my tension. It was your tender care for both Abe and myself that had allowed me to forget about my present concerns and to focus my attention onto one of my basic daily needs._

" _I cannot begin to adequately express my gratitude for your actions last night. Please accept this cup of coffee as my clumsy and insufficient way of thanking you for helping me sleep through the night._

" _Yours forever,_

" _Henry"_

Jo let loose a small chuckle. Only Henry would apologize for giving into a natural bodily function.

She smiled as she took another sip. She had been worried about his and Abe's ability to sleep last night, and her concern had prompted her to make some warm milk for them. She was glad and relieved that Henry had been able to get a good night's rest.

She re-read the note, and she knitted her eyebrows together at the closing. " _Yours forever_ ". He had _never_ ended a note in that manner before.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped when she recognized the meaning of his words. He had used them once in a letter to Abigail—just before he had declared his love to her.

Her thoughts went back to the time that she had seen that letter. In his basement lab about a year ago, they had been discussing a lead in the death of a pharmacist while Henry waited for his analysis of some unusual chemical samples. As they talked, Henry accidently knocked a picture of him and Abigail off his desk, and the glass shattered. When he started to remove the photograph from the broken frame, a piece of antique paper fell out. Jo caught it and handed it to Henry. As they read, they realized that Abigail had kept the letter that he had written to her when he had planned to leave her and Abe in Milan shortly after World War II.

He flipped it over and became deeply moved by the words. On the back, Abigail had noted that the letter was a part of their "impossible love story", written by a strong man in a moment of temptation and who chose to face his fears of an uncertain future so that he could enjoy his companions during a part of his life's journey. Jo gasped when she saw that Abigail had written the note on their anniversary in 1982.

The weight of the coffee cup snapped Jo out of her memory. She re-read the closing again. What did his use of "Yours forever" now mean for _their_ relationship?

"Is that a love letter from Henry?"

Jo jumped at the sound of Mike's voice near her head. She quickly refolded the paper and turned to her partner. He hurried out of the way and headed for his desk as she gently tucked Henry's note into her pants pocket.

Mike chuckled. "I'm just teasing. I see that he brought you coffee this morning." He looked at his desk. "I think he used my notepad for your note."

Jo took another slow sip of the caffè latte in an effort to make Henry's gift last as long as possible. "Did you ever find a hotel?"

"Yeah." Mike removed his coat and hung it on his chair. "We're staying at the Plaza Nouveau near Broadway and Canal."

She grinned. "You and Henry are going to be practically neighbors for the next few days."

Mike shot her a tired look. "We checked in at about midnight. Donnie and Matt found the hotel's indoor swimming pool this morning and convinced Karen to let them go for a swim."

Jo rolled her eyes. Ever since Mike had agreed to let the boys take swimming lessons, Donnie and Matt had been drawn to the water. It was a good thing that they had a community swimming pool within walking distance of their house, or the boys would drive Mike and Karen crazy every summer.

Mike stretched. "What did you make Doc last night? It knocked him right out." He yawned. "Maybe I could have some for myself tonight."

"Warm milk." She had started to add a couple of extra drops of vanilla extract to Henry's cup to ensure that he would sleep through the night. She suddenly stopped herself. There was a chance that the flavor could remind him of a past death by poisoning, and she didn't want him to freak out because of the unexpected memory. Gratefully, his subconscious had been able to relax him even more than what the extra vanilla extract would have.

Mike nodded. "With all of Lucas' questions and ramblings, Doc needed it."

 _With yours too_. Jo chided herself. From what she had heard last night, Mike was only trying to help Henry jog his memory.

Mike sighed. "So, I take it that we're still waiting for quite a few background checks."

Jo groaned. She had forgotten about them last night and this morning. She had checked on them yesterday after Lt. Reece's "lecture" about returning to work late. "Unfortunately, yes. They're still working on it."

Mike huffed. "And we've just added one more to the queue yesterday."

Jo took another sip of caffè latte to calm herself. As she let the taste sit on her tongue, a thought struck her. Yesterday, she had been so focused on spending some time alone with Henry that she had asked for a cup of regular coffee both at the sandwich shop and in the OCME's break room. How did he know what she liked?

She reached into her pocket and fingered the note that Henry had left her. Was there a chance that he actually remembered her preference?

A small thrill of hope rose in her. Maybe Abe was right. Maybe Henry was starting to heal from whatever injury that he had suffered. If it continued, he might be able to recover his full memory soon.

She looked at the phone on her desk. Right now, they should really focus on the cases. They still had three unsolved murders to solve and some loose ends to tie up in the investigation into William's murder. When she could get the time, she would thank Henry for the coffee then.

* * *

Clutching the thick manila envelope under his arm, Abe wove his way through the OCME's hallways with a sense of urgency. He constantly checked for any sign of his father. He would love to talk to Dad about this, but he couldn't do it now.

With each step, his anger toward himself grew. He shouldn't have opened the envelope shortly after Dad had left for work this morning. Abe was in a great mood because of the events from last night. That, and he was still feeling the effects of Jo's warm milk. Now, his good mood had soured.

His tightening grip on the file jerked him out of his thoughts and reminded him of the moments before Jo, Lucas, and Mike had arrived at the shop. He and Dad needed to know what was going on with Dad's memory. Sooner or later, Abe would have needed to open the file anyway.

Abe's self-loathing stopped with that idea. Honestly, he was upset because of his findings. He couldn't believe what he had read. Even with his knowledge of medicine, some of the results didn't make sense.

He arrived at the end of the hallway. From the entrance, he could tell that his father wasn't in his office or in the autopsy room. Then, Abe smiled as he saw Lucas sitting at his desk near the door.

Abe took the last few steps into the room. Lucas paid no attention to Abe's entrance. Instead, he concentrated on the forms in front of him.

Abe cleared his throat.

Lucas looked up, turned around, and placed his arm on the back of his chair. "Oh, hey, Abe! I didn't see you there."

"Is Henry around?"

"If you mean here in the building, yes. Here, here, no. The CME called a meeting of all the MEs a few minutes ago."

Abe sighed with relief.

Lucas continued. "I heard him talking to Jeff McNamara as they left for the meeting. Honestly, based on what I had heard of their conversation, amnesia or not, you really need to stage a pop culture intervention—."

Abe glared at his father's assistant. At other times, he would welcome Lucas' conversation, but now was not the time.

Lucas inhaled. "O-kaaay. You're not here for a social visit." Then, he grinned and leaned back in his chair. "What do you need my expertise in? Pop culture? Old-school cinematography?" He lifted his hands and gestured. "Are you here to ask me to accompany you in an Indiana Jones type of adventure into the world of antiques?"

Abe pulled the envelope out from under his arm and extended it toward Lucas. "I'm here about a medical mystery."

Lucas' eyes widened as he took the papers. After a moment, he jumped out of his seat. "Um…" He swung around and pointed a couple of times before settling on a direction. "Let's go to the break room. I'm sure that no one will be in there for a while."

Abe followed Lucas through the hallways. He swallowed. The first time that they had worked together behind Dad's back, it had almost ended in disaster. Fortunately, things then had turned out for the better in the end, with Dad finally telling Jo the truth about himself. Still, Abe was unsettled by the idea of a drastically different outcome at that time.

With that day in mind, Abe smiled. It seemed as though the moment that Jo had arrived at the shop looking for answers had partially returned to Dad earlier this week.

Abe caught himself. If it came back fully before any other memories of Dad's immortality, it could confuse him. It might even scare him away from the idea of remembering the rest of his life.

The squeak of Lucas' shoes on the waxed floor snapped Abe out of his thoughts. Lucas' towering frame pushed the door of the break room open and held it for Abe.

They walked to the table and sat down. Lucas plopped the envelope onto the table top and pulled out the papers. "Wow!" He lowered his voice. "You actually put down that he was born in 1979?!"

Abe nodded as he watched the door. "Yeah. It's the birth year that he's been using for the last nine years."

The young man read for a few minutes. "He's going to be very interested in all of this. It's got everything about his body. If he's ever been curious about how his condition—" Lucas drew air quotes as he spoke the last word. "–affects him in life, this will give him a good idea."

He paused. "His cholesterol is better than mine! How did that happen?! We eat practically the same things." He glanced up at Abe and noticed Abe's glare. "Okay, maybe not the same exact things, and with his condition—. Right. Getting back to my reading."

A few moments later, Lucas stared at the packet. "Now I know why you said it was a medical mystery." He looked up from the papers. "Do you mind if I call a friend? He's a neurologist."

 _Lucas must have seen what I saw_. "No, I don't mind a bit. I was thinking that we might need another opinion anyway."

Lucas reached into his pants pocket and whipped out his phone. He hunched over it for a moment before tapping the screen. A couple of seconds later, he held it to his ear.

"Hey, Roger! It's me!... Well, you're quite welcome. I'm glad that you thought Sasha was quite hot in her costume…. I just wish that it didn't tear while filming. I never got my deposit back, and they charged me a _lot_ for the rip. Talk about highway robbery!"

He peeked at Abe and inhaled. "Listen, that's not why I called. I need your opinion about something that I've seen in the living…. There's this friend of mine. He's in his mid- to late-30s, and he has retrograde amnesia…. Yes, I'm sure!...Nope, no anterograde amnesia…. Perfect health…. No history of mental illness... Regular diet. You should taste his roommate's cooking. It is—…Okay! You don't have to get uptight about it!... Exercises regularly… Walking, swimming, and some occasional bike riding… He does drink socially, but he has no history of drug or alcohol abuse."

Abe exhaled with relief at Lucas' last statement. No one knew that Dad had turned into a near teetotaler in 1987—about the same time that Lucas and Roger were spending their Saturday mornings watching cartoons—after he had discovered that he had developed a case of alcoholism.

"He was in the hospital recently. Most of his labs and toxicology screens came back normal…. I actually have his father with me. Let me put him on."

Lucas pushed a button, and Roger's voice suddenly filled the air.

Abe's throat tightened. "Hello?"

"Can you tell me what symptoms your son had while in the hospital and what the doctors had found?"

"He was unconscious when he was first brought into the hospital. I noticed that his skin and fingernails were normal while I waited for the emergency department doctor to enter my son's room. When he first came to, he had headaches, dizziness, nausea, and some aphasia in addition to the memory loss. The only thing they had found wrong was that his oxygen levels were low. Everything but the aphasia has cleared up now."

"Anything else?"

Abe told Roger what else the labs had revealed. As the neurologist gave them a diagnosis and a prognosis, Abe and Lucas stared at each other in disbelief, and Abe felt his stomach churn. They knew that Dad's amnesia was serious, but they didn't realize just how critical it was to determine its cause. Now, hopefully, Dad could get his memory back before it was too late.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Two things: First, the scarf on Jo's chair is the same one from chapter 16.

Second, this is set three years past 1x22. By now, Henry has shown Jo the notes that Adam's written. That's why she recognizes Adam's handwriting also.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note** : I actually made a canon-based mistake in Chapter 23. According to Henry and Abe's conversation in the Pilot, Henry gave up drinking in 1986, not 1987. Sorry for the mix-up !

About the time I was writing Chapter 2, I had a cause of amnesia that fit with the story in my head, and I researched it to see if it could happen in real-life. (Scientifically speaking, it can!) It might be a little different than what you and I have read in other fan fics, but I hope that you will find it plausible. I also hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

There are references to the Pilot, "The Art of Murder", "Skinny Dipper", "Social Engineering", "Dead Men Tell Long Tales", "Best Foot Forward", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan".

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

"Thank you."

Jo sighed as she hung up the phone and stared at the binder that Baruch College's career development center had given Mike and Henry. Every employer that she and Mike had talked to had denied that Titus and Gene were their employees. If she didn't know any better, she would say that Liz Chamberlin had met them and had doctored their employment histories for them just like she had done for Henry once before.

Feeling her head throb, Jo leaned over and rubbed her temples. She wasn't sure if her headache was from the stress that she was feeling, the lack of sleep last night, or some combination of both.

Her yawn suggested the second one. She reached over to the cup of coffee that Henry had bought for her. As she closed her hand around it and felt its weight, she groaned. She should have remembered that she had drunk it all earlier.

Nevertheless, she picked up the cup, pulled it toward her, and studied it. She wished that she could keep it. Henry had given her gifts before, but they usually had been for her birthday or Christmas. This was the first present that he had given her for any other reason.

She noticed the sleeve. _Maybe_ ….

She slightly tugged on the cardboard wrapper, and it easily slipped off the cup. She took one last look at the cup before carefully setting it in the trash can.

She flattened the sleeve and picked up her pen. She chuckled as she wrote the date and a note about the circumstances of Henry's purchase on the wrapper. It wasn't like her to be very sentimental, but she innately wanted to save this piece of cardboard. Her note must have been something that she had picked up a year ago after reading Abigail's own reminder to herself and Henry.

The second that Jo finished writing, she heard a door open behind her.

"Jo. Mike." Lt. Reece's slightly concerned voice carried above the bullpen's din.

Jo quickly recapped her pen and almost threw it into the pen holder. As she rose from her chair, she tucked the sleeve into the same pants pocket that held Henry's note to her.

A sense of fear grew in the pit of her stomach, and her heart started pounding in her chest. What was Lt. Reece worried about? The last time that she had used her current tone of voice, Henry had become emotionally withdrawn after Adam had killed him in the shop with a high-powered rifle, and Lieu had wanted Jo to keep an eye on him.

She and Mike wove their way through the desks and into the lieutenant's office. As she and Lt. Reece took their seats, Mike closed the door behind them and slid into the chair next to Jo.

Lt. Reece folded her hands in front of her and sighed. "Is Henry okay? Since yesterday, I've had several unis come to me and tell me that Henry had a panic attack while at the scene of Titus' death. Most of them had suggested that he should see a psychiatrist for it."

Jo swallowed. She didn't know how many unis had noticed that something was wrong with Henry. Fortunately, they were telling one person who already knew about his memory issues.

She inhaled to calm herself as she remembered his reaction. "He wanted to look at some evidence in Titus' car. As he started to pull his shoe off, he suddenly had a flashback to one of his awakenings and panicked."

"I thought you've said—."

Jo looked Lt. Reece in the eye. "He definitely has amnesia." She paused to think of a way to explain it. "However, he has remembered a few things since his return to work last week."

"Like?" The changed look in Lieu's eyes showed that the lieutenant was just momentarily confused seconds ago.

"It's been mostly very small fragments of cases or things from earlier in his life, and a little bit of the moment he had decided to tell me about his condition has returned." She decided to leave out Henry's mention of A Coruña; she still had no idea how he even knew about the city. "But, everything else…" She momentarily glanced down to steady her emotions. "Abe's sure that everything's still there but Henry can't access them."

"Did Abe find the cause?"

"Not yet. He has Henry's records, but, as far as I know, he hasn't looked at them yet."

Lt. Reece nodded and thought for a moment. "Do you know which rebirth Henry remembered?"

Mike shifted in his chair. "Without a mention of a death? The memory was of only the start of one."

"Good point."

The memory of the scene and Henry's reaction came back to Jo. Even though they might have another suspect, several specific elements gave the impression that Adam was behind Titus' death.

She gasped. "What if Titus' death is subconsciously reminding Henry of the Clark Walker case?"

She looked at her superior and her partner. Mike initially raised an eyebrow but nodded while Lt. Reece pondered Jo's question.

Lieu's eyes met Jo's as she leaned back. "If that particular rebirth is what he was remembering when he was at the scene—." She rubbed her temples. "That would explain a lot. Then again, the memory of _any_ rebirth might scare him right now."

Lt. Reece took a deep breath. "This is one time that I wish we could bring Adam in and question him, but—."

Before she could finish her sentence, someone knocked on the door. Jo braced herself as she turned toward the sound. Hopefully, it wasn't another uni who wanted to complain about Henry.

Lt. Reece raised her voice. "Come in."

The door flew open, and Lucas burst into the room. Abe stepped in behind him and closed the door.

Lucas looked both worried and excited at the same time. "We know what's causing Henry's amnesia!"

Adrenaline surged through Jo. "What?"

The pair moved toward them. Lucas inhaled and exchanged looks with Abe. It was almost as if they were debating who should break the news.

Abe cleared his throat. "It's carbon monoxide poisoning."

 _What?!_ "How?"

Lucas walked over to the desk and placed his hands on it. "We were thinking that too, but it makes perfect sense if Henry was in the fire that burnt Brent's body. Apparently, the carbon monoxide damaged Henry's frontal and temporal lobes as well as his striatum, basal ganglia, and cerebellum by reducing the amount of available oxygen in his blood to those areas. That would explain his lack of memories, the changes in his personality, and even his lack of knowledge of how to do certain things."

Jo nodded. It looked as though she and Henry were right about his presence in the apartment during the fire. They, however, still needed more proof to confirm that theory.

Abe shifted his weight. "But we don't know that for sure. Dr. Patel, his neurologist in the hospital, ordered an MRI, and he and the emergency department doctor had ordered a bunch of labs. The lab work showed that Henry was definitely poisoned, but the MRI didn't reveal any physical damage."

Jo suddenly remembered Henry's vivid description of his difficulty to breathe before one of his deaths by smoke inhalation. "He received oxygen in the hospital, so he should be okay, right?"

Lucas tapped his fingers on the side of the desk, just like Henry occasionally did while talking on the phone in the OCME. "Not necessarily. Some people's symptoms are delayed, especially if they lose consciousness before they are treated."

Jo bit her lower lip. Officer Hannigan had mentioned in his report that he and the three men whom he had questioned in East River Park had found Henry unconscious.

Lucas took a deep breath. "That's not the worst part."

Jo's heart began to race in her chest. She gripped the chair arm to steady herself in her seat.

Behind her, she heard Lt. Reece sharply inhale. "What do you mean?"

Abe and Lucas looked at each other. Abe stared at something past her and swallowed.

 _This isn't good._

With tears glistening in his eyes, Abe inhaled. "If their symptoms don't end after two weeks, victims may never recover." He stopped to collect his thoughts. "We have four days left before his amnesia becomes permanent."

Jo suddenly felt completely numb. It could _not_ be possible.

Lt. Reece's chair squeaked. "Does Henry know yet?"

"I do now."

At the sound of Henry's voice, Jo turned toward him. His mouth had dropped open, and his eyes had the same look that she had seen reflected in the window of her hospital room during Adam's second call to Henry years ago.

Knowing that Henry needed her support now, Jo wanted to do something—anything—for him, but she couldn't think.

"Let's give them some privacy." Lt. Reece's voice cut through Jo's fog.

Jo numbly rose from her chair and obediently followed Lieu toward the door. As Jo brushed past Henry, she started to feel the initial shock wear off. She wanted to reach out and take his hand to comfort him, but, under Lt. Reece's watchful eye, she couldn't.

Once out the door and down the hallway, Jo stopped and looked at the forming group. Mike joined her side while Lieu nudged Lucas toward them.

Speechless, they looked at each other. None of them had expected this.

Finally, Mike cleared his throat. "Jo—."

Jo bristled at her official partner. He was trying to help, but she could not bear to hear his platitudes.

She inhaled to stop the imminent flow of tears. "Excuse me, but I need to go to the ladies' room." She breezed past Mike and hurried toward the bathroom.

* * *

When Jo opened the bathroom's door, she checked under each stall. Fortunately, no one was in there. She walked over to the wall near the sinks and slid down to the floor.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as the memories of her and Henry's relationship came back to her. She looked down at the ground in an attempt to stop the tears. Barring a miracle, in four days, Henry would be gone. The man himself would live forever, but everything else about him would cease to exist.

She heard the door creak open. She braced herself and hoped that it wasn't a colleague needing a stall.

A pair of flats instantly caught Jo's eye. She looked up and saw Lt. Reece. Jo resisted the urge to groan; she didn't want her boss to see her like this.

Lt. Reece closed the door and moved the trash can in front of it. Then, she walked over and joined Jo at the wall. After she sat down, she attempted to pull her skirt over her knees. "I wish that I had worn my sweat pants today."

Jo softly chuckled. She knew the feeling. The one time that she had fought off a suspect in a dress, she had wished for her pants. The only thing that made her feel that it was worthwhile was the expressions on Henry's and Mike's faces when they learned what happened. Mike's jaw dropped open, and he seemed a bit embarrassed for mistaking the struggle for an amorous moment with Isaac. Although his face was well-schooled, Henry had looked as though either the sight of her in a dress or his image of her battle in it had pleasantly surprised him.

Jo looked over at Lt. Reece in an attempt to steady her surging emotions. "How do you jog 238 years of memories in four days?" She turned her head back to face the door. "It took Henry three days to tell me everything that he remembered during our first nine months of working together, and that was a very small fraction of what he's been through or seen over the years." She sighed. "I haven't realize the size of his memory until this happened."

"Pictures from his childhood?"

Jo looked back at her superior. "When his birth date predates modern photography by sixty years?"

"Good point. Paintings from that period?"

Jo shook her head. "They're in private collections, buried in museum vaults, or destroyed, and one is still in our evidence room. Henry found one painting for sale once, but he didn't have the heart to buy it."

"Which one was it?"

"His parents, his siblings, and he sat in the family's drawing room when he was a nine-year-old kid. He hated every second of being forced to hold his pose until the painting was done. All he wanted to do was to climb a tree or read one of his books." She nodded as she remembered Henry's story of the painting and the sadness in his eyes as he remembered his siblings, all of whom he had to bury before he had turned 18, and his parents.

Lt. Reece softly chuckled. "I emphasize with his mother. He was likely a handful for her." She thought for a minute. "A visit to his childhood home?"

"It was demolished years ago and turned into a public cemetery." Even if the house was still standing, she knew that it probably would bring back his painful memories of every family member's deaths in the house, his father's betrayal of the family's values, and Nora's decision to commit Henry.

Jo's tears began to flow again. It was unfair. History and time wanted to erase Henry's existence in the past while he was still alive. Yet, the people in his present needed those records now.

Lt. Reece stood up. Jo heard a couple of whirrs and a rip. A couple of seconds later, Lt. Reece rejoined her on the floor and handed her a paper towel. "It's not soft, but…"

Jo took the towel from Lt. Reece. "Thanks."

Jo wished that she could go back in time and talk to Henry's mother. Barring that, she wanted to travel to 1985 Tarrytown and talk to Abigail in an attempt to gain some additional insight into Henry. "Time travel isn't possible."

"And in Henry's case, it would be more complicated." Jo looked over at Lieu. A slight smile escaped from her poker face. "I might still have a crush on Marty McFly."

Jo scrutinized Lieu for a moment. She wasn't sure what was more surprising: Lieu's admission or the fact that _Back to the Future_ was one of her favorite movies.

Lt. Reece continued. "The NYPD isn't going to advance vacation time to you so that you and Henry can go globetrotting."

"I don't know half of the places where he has lived." Besides, even under normal circumstances, Paris might present a temptation for the two of them to ignore the task at hand. "We've got Google Earth." Jo leaned her head back against the wall.

"You're talking about a man who can use a cell phone but still refuses to carry one." She paused. "TV travelogues?"

Jo chuckled. "We're talking about _Henry_ here." She paused. "Although Craig Koop had suggested that he should watch _Watkins' Journeys_."

Lt. Reece smiled. "NYPD records wouldn't be an option."

That caused another chuckle to rise in Jo as she thought about seeing Henry's earliest mug shots. She quickly suppressed the good laugh. If Adam was working in the records department, he might use their access to Henry's files to his advantage.

Lieu's silence gave Jo a moment to turn to her. "Naked sleepwalking?"

"Abe nixed that idea."

Lieu raised an eyebrow.

"Nora." An unexpected wave of nausea swept over Jo as she remembered the stories of the torture that Henry had suffered in Bedlam after that wife's betrayal.

Lieu leaned her own head back against the wall. "Between her and you-know-who, as long as I'm unofficially over Henry, he will _never_ have to see a psychiatrist again unless he wants to."

Jo smiled. "Henry would appreciate that."

The other woman turned her head to Jo. "You've discussed most of these options last night."

Jo cast a wary look at Lt. Reece. It was almost as if she had eavesdropped on the team's conversation at the shop.

Jo looked down at the ground and fiddled with the paper towel. She wished that there was something that she could do to jog Henry's memory.

The start of Lieu's voice caught Jo's attention. "Where are you at on your cases?"

"In the Brent Watkins' and Gene Tomberlin's cases, we've questioned everyone we could think of. Gene has no family or friends that we know of, and we're still trying to find out where he works. Mike and I are waiting for the background checks in all four cases, and we're hoping that the interview with Titus' parents on Monday would produce more leads. In the meantime, Henry's still waiting on the toxicology and lab results for all four men."

Lt. Reece nodded. "Maybe you can use some of your spare time to be with Henry."

Jo stared at her boss in stunned disbelief. "What?"

"You can use the extra time to take him to different places here in New York. He's lived practically everywhere in the city over the last 125 years, and he's the one telling us the history of the neighborhoods that you visit during a case. Visit several of the neighborhoods. Go to a museum or the library. Take him swimming—preferably in a pool. Maybe seeing or doing something would bring back some full memories."

Jo bit her lower lip in thought and fingered the paper towel. She remembered making the suggestion last night, but she wasn't sure if Lt. Reece would let her take the time off. Now, since she had…

"What about the OCME? Do you think that they would give him the time off? Henry's boss has been giving him and Lucas Dr. Washington's backlog."

Lt. Reece looked Jo in the eye. "Probably, if you say that you're following a lead in your cases."

She studied Jo for a moment, and her usual poker face gave way to concern. "When was your last day off?"

Jo leaned her head against the wall. She placed her hand behind her head and closed her eyes as she tried to remember. She wished that the police commissioner wasn't so focused on improving the 11th Precinct's clearance rates; they were already the best in the city.

"I think it was a little over two weeks ago."

Lieu's eyes bore into Jo and caused the detective to turn to her boss. "Take tomorrow off. You need the break. Officially, it'll help you gain some perspective on your open cases."

For a second, the first time that Jo had called Henry her partner returned to her. "And unofficially?"

"Get some rest and use some of your free time to see if you can jog Henry's memory." With that, Lt. Reece uncrossed her legs, rose from her position, and walked over to the door.

As she moved the trash can, Lieu looked back at Jo. "While you're at it, take the rest of today off as well. It looks as though you need your sleep, and you have a lot to process."

The second that Lt. Reece left the room, Jo unexpectedly yawned. She shook her head as exhaustion set in.

She stared at the door. She didn't want to go home now. She and Mike might stumble on a lead, or Henry could ask her to spend some time with him. She should be here at the precinct for them.

If she could take a nap, she might be able to avoid going home. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes to get a few moments' rest and to relieve her pounding headache.

An abrupt creak of the bathroom door next door shook her. Jo opened her eyes and sighed. Lt. Reece was right. She was of no use to Henry or Mike if she was sleepy throughout the day.

She wearily stood up and turned to the mirror. Her mascara had run down her cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy. She wiped her face with the paper towel.

As she trudged toward the can, she smiled. Henry had once noticed her mascara and instantly knew that what had happened and why.

The thought of him never being able to do that again crossed her mind. Tears threatened to reform in her eyes. She would do anything to help him reclaim that part of himself, but she didn't know where to start.

Another yawn escaped, and her closed eyes sent a couple of tears over the rim of her eyelids. She wiped them off with the paper towel to keep them from stinging her eyes—and to keep everyone from seeing her like this.

Even if her house was across town, she could hear her bed call her name. She tossed the paper towel into the trash can and opened the door. As her eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the hallway, she sighed. Maybe tomorrow she could think of something.

* * *

Still stunned by the news, Henry numbly stepped into the room. His hand started to loosen around the envelope containing William's and Brent's clean toxicology and lab results, but Henry barely felt his fingers instinctively tighten themselves back around the file.

He peered at Abe. For the first time in about a week and a half, Henry's legs threatened to give way under him. He staggered to the chair closest to him. Not caring if the envelope slipped into the seat, he clutched the back of the chair as though his life depended on it.

The conversation that he had overheard when he had opened the door swirled around in his mind. Definitely been poisoned. Delayed symptoms, especially if found unconscious. Four days left.

He turned his head toward his roommate. His thoughts about his mental health during that first full day of consciousness broke through the storm in his mind.

Henry softly chuckled. "At least I now know that it's not due to psychological distress."

His and Dr. Patel's conversations about his health returned to Henry's thoughts. Abe's conversation with the group, however—.

"Man! Abe!" Henry suddenly felt the urge to pace, and he released his grip on the chair to satisfy it. "Dr. Patel had told me that every test result came back normal! Why did he lie to me? The Hippocratic Oath requires doctors to do no harm to their patients, yet he has done precisely that! For over a week and a half, I had believed that my memory issues were psychological in nature when they were, in fact, physical. Soon, everything about my life and about me will be gone!"

Abe stared at him. "Henry!"

Abe's authoritative voice caused Henry to stop just in front of his roommate. Henry instinctively looked at the older man.

"You still have time. Anything can happen in four days."

"Easy for you to say! You still have all of your memories intact!"

The intensity of his anger and the loudness of his voice surprised Henry. He sighed and resumed pacing to calm himself. There was no way for Abe, or anyone else, to know what he was going through.

At that moment, he could see himself pacing in a room filled with antique furniture, bookshelves, and various cabinets. In addition, he could hear himself tell someone in the room that the situation would be easier if—.

His pacing slowed. What happened then, and why was he seeing that now?

He took a deep breath as he sped up his pace. He wished that he knew what connected the fragments of memories that were coming to him, but he couldn't spend much time dwelling on it. Soon, what few memories that he had at the end of the next four days would be the only things he would have from his old life.

Something outside the door caught his attention and focused him to stop. He looked out and saw Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —walk toward the area. She stopped at her desk and sat down in her chair.

His heart clenched within him. A wave of nausea swept over him, and his legs started to wobble again. He stumbled to the chair that he had held onto earlier and slowly sat down.

He took a few deep breaths to alleviate his nausea. He had never killed a man before—that he knew of—but he had now. In his irrational fear of seeing a psychiatrist, he had foolishly reduced the amount of time that he had to jog his memory. Now, in four days, the Henry Morgan whom Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —and everyone else had known would be gone, and it was all because of him.

Tears began to form in his eyes. He didn't mean to do this to them. He had thought that he was protecting himself and those whom he cared for. Instead, his actions were causing the very thing that he had feared when he had been discharged from the hospital, their pain, and, in four days from now, he would cause them to suffer even more.

Four days from now would be April 7th. He had until April 7th before his past would cease to exist.

He suddenly saw the image of his historical namesake's tombstone in his mind and inhaled as he remembered the inscription. Although they were separated by two centuries, the two men shared a name and a birthdate. Now, they would share another thing.

A death date.

Granted, he would still be alive at the end of the period, and he would have the opportunity to experience what the other Henry Morgan could not. This Henry's memories before the amnesia, however, wouldn't follow him throughout his life.

" _Anything can happen in four days_."

Abe's words echoed in Henry's head. He sighed. He longed to have Abe's confidence that everything would work out for the good.

His roommate had made an excellent point, though. The Henry Morgan from the 1800s possibly didn't see his death coming. The Henry Morgan of the present, however, still had time to prevent the death of his memories.

He turned to Abe. Hoping that the older man would pick up on his apologetic attitude, he gave his roommate a small smile. Abe returned Henry's smile with one of his own.

Maybe he could handle this like an autopsy. First, he should find out what had actually happened to him. "I should go to the hospital and request my medical records."

Abe extended a manila envelope. Initially, Henry thought that Abe had picked up the one with William's and Brent's results, but the thickness of the offered file indicated that this was his.

Henry narrowed his eyes. "How did you obtain them?"

"I went to the hospital yesterday and requested them. I'm sorry that I used business as an excuse to miss breakfast. I didn't want to upset you, especially since you were already freaked about your condition."

Henry opened the envelope and pulled out the packet of paper. "That's alright. We probably would have been interrupted anyway." Just as the words had left his mouth, he had a vague impression that it had happened multiple times before.

Abe chuckled. "Yeah. You would think that dead bodies could wait a few minutes longer to be examined. Instead, they seem to be as impatient as living patients."

Henry smiled. He wanted to chuckle himself, but his contact information instantly caught his attention. He knitted his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Why did you tell the hospital that you're my father?"

He looked up at Abe. Suddenly, Henry realized why.

He lowered his voice. "Since no one in my family is alive—."

Tears started to well in his eyes again, this time from gratitude. Abe had said it so that he could perform every task that a family member would do in a medical emergency.

Henry redirected his attention back to the documents in his hands and flipped through them. As Dr. Patel had told him, every test that he had ordered had come back normal. The lab work which the emergency department doctor had requested told a different story. The measurement of carboxyhemoglobin blood saturations revealed that he had suffered a case of carbon monoxide poisoning.

He nodded. It explained why he had experienced headaches, nausea, and dizziness while he was in the hospital; the gas wasn't fully out of his system during that time. In addition, it could account for his fatigue during his first day of work.

He continued reading. At one point, his eyes widened in surprise. Apparently, his body had metabolized the carbon monoxide a little quicker—more like thirty percent quicker—than most people's bodies. Abe had said that he had an ability to quickly heal, but how was that possible? He pushed the question aside to maintain his focus on learning more about what the doctors had found wrong with him.

After a few more moments, he pushed the papers' edges together to straighten the packet and inserted the file into the envelope. He gave it back to Abe. At least he now knew what he was up against.

The carbon monoxide had to come from somewhere. But where?

His interrogation returned to his mind. Detective Martinez had said that he and Brent were in the same apartment just before the fire. There should be evidence on the hoodie that they had found him in.

He peered back into the work area. He sighed in relief. She hadn't left yet.

Unexpectedly energized by his line of thought, he pushed himself out of his chair and walked toward the door.

"Hey!" Abe's voice reminded Henry of the room's other occupant. "Where are you going?"

Henry grinned at his continued line of reasoning. Hope began to rise again. "Hopefully, trying to prevent the permanent loss of my memory."

He stepped out of the office and wove his way through the detectives' work area to Detective Martinez's desk. She stood up from her chair and began to remove her coat from it.

"Detective!"

At the sound of her title, she turned around. "What?"

Worry about her rose up in him, but he rapidly suppressed it. She sounded and looked exhausted, and she should return home to get some rest. She, however, needed to know about this possible lead. He hoped that it would take only a few minutes to pursue it.

He drew close to her. "I need to look at the hoodie that I was found in."

"It's in the evidence room. I—."

He threw his hands up. "J—."

Henry stopped himself. The potentially erroneous name almost slipped out. "Just humor me."

She sighed as she tossed her coat on the chair. "Okay, but we can't stay in evidence too long. I'm tired, and Lieu had just ordered me to go home and to return to work on Monday."

"It won't take up too much of your time. I promise." He hoped that he could keep it for her sake.

She stepped around her desk and walked toward the elevators. With a spring in his step, he followed her lead.

He smiled. If he could solve this case, he might be able to find a way to regain his memory.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** **holds out a virtual box of tissues to anyone who needs it**

All of the parts of the brain Lucas mentions in the chapter are the areas associated with episodic memory (what we call "memories"), procedural memory, (the memory of how to do something), and language. The cerebellum also controls balance and coordination.

My research into carbon monoxide poisoning came from Wikipedia ( wiki/Carbon_monoxide_poisoning), this article in the New York Times., and this site ( ).


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note** : I finished the majority of this chapter about the same time that I published Chapter 24. I didn't post this one because I wanted to wait until after Thanksgiving here in the US. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

There are references to the Pilot, "Skinny Dipper", "Hitler on the Half Shell", and "Social Engineering".

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

With each step, Henry tried to review the methodology that he needed to pursue his lead about the hoodie. Yet, as he followed Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —out of the detectives' work area, he found himself drawing a blank on both the technique and the type of forensic evidence that he was seeking.

As they neared the elevator, he sighed in frustration. He should know what he was looking for. After all, Detective Martinez had said that he did possess knowledge of the subject. He wished that he could remember it so that he could solve the mystery of Brent's death and his own amnesia.

Another wave of familiarity washed over him. At one point, he had felt that his work could solve another riddle. He quickly pushed the question about his baffling mystery out of his mind. He must focus on this case now instead of thinking about some past puzzle that he had forgotten.

Detective Martinez pressed the down button on the elevator's control panel. Almost immediately, the bell rang, and the doors opened. They stepped into the car and watched the rest of the precinct pass them as the doors closed.

The car lurched and began the journey down to the first floor. Henry once again began to ponder what evidence he could find on the garment in question.

"Okay. Talk."

Detective Martinez's firm, slightly irritated voice snapped him out of his thoughts and focused his attention onto her vague order. "About what?"

"You've just received some very upsetting news, but you're acting as though nothing's wrong. What gives?"

He sighed as the stunned expression on her face as she had brushed past him in Lt. Reece's office crossed his mind. She had just received equally disconcerting news of her own, and she needed time to process it. He shouldn't burden her with his fears of the future.

He looked into her searching eyes. There was no way to hide his thoughts from her.

He inhaled in an attempt to alleviate the rue that he felt. "Honestly, it feels like a death sentence."

She bit her lower lip and glanced down with tears beginning to form in her eyes. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang again, and the doors opened. They stepped out of the car, and he let Detective Martinez take the lead again.

Each step took them deeper into the building's interior. The number of people in the hallways dwindled until the halls were empty.

When he noticed that they had a sense of privacy, he decided to elaborate on their conversation in the elevator. "Within the next few days, everything about me will be gone. My past. My hopes and dreams. My fears. My mistakes. Everything I am and everything I've learned will cease to exist."

Suddenly, he heard a feminine voice restate the start of his last sentence and completing it with words of her own. Strangely, the voice didn't belong to Detective Martinez.

He instinctively turned his head away from Detective Martinez. Whose voice did he just hear? Was it his late wife's?

"Was that another vague memory?"

He looked toward the detective. His eyes darted around before training themselves onto her. "I believe it was."

He fought back his forming tears as a few of his questions about himself returned. "I want to be able to remember everything about myself. I hadn't pursued it before because I had been frightened by what I would find. But, now…"

Detective Martinez stopped and took his hand into hers. "You're a good man, Henry Morgan. Don't you forget it."

At that moment, Henry heard an unfamiliar masculine voice echoing some of her words, and he unexpectedly cringed. It was almost as if the man associated with the voice had done something so reprehensible that it had caused Henry to be unable to reconcile the man's statement with his previous actions.

Detective Martinez's squeeze of his hand brought Henry out of his thoughts. He looked into her caring eyes and immediately felt calmer.

She gazed into his eyes. "As for your memory, we'll find a way to help you get it back."

In spite of the news that they had both received, she seemed so confident in her belief that his condition was reversible. He squeezed her hand to thank her for her reassurance before she released it.

They continued their walk. She glanced over at him. "Why do you need to look at your hoodie?"

Relief that Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —wanted to know what he was thinking flooded him. "I believe that I have a lead in my disappearance and in Brent's murder. There should be some evidence on the hoodie that could tell us what happened in both instances."

She nodded and knitted her eyebrows in thought.

They walked together in silence for a few more seconds. Soon, she reached up and rubbed her forehead.

A pang of guilt hit him. Her irritability was from physical aches as much as it was from fatigue and emotional pain. Maybe his lead should have waited until Monday.

 _Stop it. She is concerned about your memory issues, and she wants to know what happened to you. You must let her do this for her sake._

His thoughts echoed the ones from last night, and he sighed inwardly. It had been so much easier to tend to her every desire and need before the instant that he had seen himself underwater. Since that moment, he struggled to determine exactly what Detective Martinez's— _Jo's?_ —needs were. Last night, he had wanted to take care of her before he had seen the mug that was meant for Abe. In contrast, he had willfully ignored her fatigue in his excitement about his lead until merely seconds ago.

Then again, couples shared each other's troubles and concerns, and, together, they would find ways to either resolve the issues or to take the other's mind off their worries. Ideally, the burden would be equally shared. As his problems were more noticeable of the moment, she was shouldering the burden by finding ways to put his mind at ease. Hopefully, he could find a way to reciprocate her care of him soon.

Before he could apologize for his insensitivity about her headache and fatigue, he saw a sign on the wall saying "Evidence Room". As they entered it, Henry noticed a pair of doors to his right.

"Why don't you wait in there while I get the box?" She pointed to one of the doors.

He placed his hand on the knob and opened the door. To his surprise, it looked like the interrogation room but without the large mirror separating the room from the observation area.

He closed the door and started pacing as he reviewed the facts of his disappearance and Brent's murder. The pacing seemed to help him maintain his focus on his analysis. He, however, could not think of the necessary forensic evidence.

He blew his breath out in frustration. He was sending Detective Martinez on a wild goose chase. As far as they knew, the only thing that they would find is Brent's blood on the hoodie. Blood that he had, judging from the appearance of Abe's suit and gloves during everyone's reenactment the other day, smeared on it after he had futilely tried to save Brent's life.

Speaking of Detective Martinez, where was she? Did the people in charge of keeping the evidence lose the box?

Just as Henry lifted his arm to check the time on Abe's wristwatch, he heard a knock on the door. He stepped over to it and opened it. Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —stood near the threshold with a box in her hands.

She walked the box over to the table and set her package down as he closed the door behind her and moved back to the table. She removed the lid and took out the plastic bag that he had seen during his interrogation and a file folder apparently containing the police report.

He looked into the now empty box. "Is that all?"

"Yeah. Thanks to the police commissioner, the unis are as swamped as we are. Since you were alive and there were no signs of physical injury, no one apparently felt the need to investigate it any further. That is, until the DNA results revealed that Brent's blood was on the hoodie."

He nodded. Her explanation was logical. The other patrol officers possibly assumed that someone at the hospital would discover what he needed to resume his life. Either that, or they believed that the homicide division would actively investigate the matter to protect one of their own.

Just then, he swore that he heard Lt. Reece's voice echoing the last part of his latest thought. What had happened then?

Detective Martinez's motions discouraged him from analyzing the fragment of memory any further. She tossed him a pair of gloves, and he slipped them on. He reached over, picked up the bag, opened it, and removed the hoodie.

He started to examine it. Upon a quick visual inspection, it appeared to be in perfect condition. The only thing on it was the blood stain that they both had seen.

"What are you looking for?"

Henry raised his head and looked at her. "Typically, in arson investigations, CSU looks for glass, debris, serological evidence, and volatile ignitable liquids on clothing to determine the nature and behavior of the fire. I obviously wasn't present in the fire when Brent's body was burnt, but I'm checking for smoke damage." _Why am I suddenly remembering this information?_

"Smoke damage? What are you—?"

Henry lowered the garment and watched her forehead wrinkle in response to her pain. Her headache was interfering with her excellent powers of deduction.

Another wave of familiarity washed over him. He had mentioned her ability—and meant it as a genuine compliment—once before.

He looked at a point past her to get himself to focus on the task at hand before turning back to her. "Smoke contains many corrosive chemicals, such as hydrochloric acid and hydrobromic acid, as well as soot. Fabrics are porous in nature, which allows them to absorb the chemicals. That is why people frequently replace unburnt clothes after a fire, both to prevent damage to their clothes and to rid their closets of the distinctive smell of smoke.

"Although I wasn't in the fire, smoke could have still gotten on my clothes even if the fire had started in the other apartment." He laid the article of clothing down on the table. "Smoke travels both up through a chimney-like structure—" He pantomimed the outline of a chimney "—like a stairwell or elevator shaft, and out—" He rotated his hands so that they paralleled the ground and spread his arms out before placing them on the table next to the hoodie"—through hallways or an opening. If there was a gap between the apartments, smoke from the fire could have traveled into the other apartment—." _How do I know that? Did I witness a fire before?_

She nodded. Despite her temporary inability to make deductions, she understood his reasoning.

Lifting the hoodie into the air again, he inspected it once more. He wrinkled his eyebrows. The article of clothing didn't appear to have any smoke damage or soot. He looked down at the table, and he couldn't see any soot, glass, or debris on its surface. Nor could he see anything unusual in the plastic bag.

He turned the garment around and, knowing that it was beneficial to him earlier this morning, tentatively sniffed an area on the middle of the hoodie's back. Puzzled, he lowered it onto the table and spread it out. The hoodie smelled like dirt, and a very light, almost imperceptible, patch of black stood out among the blue color of the garment.

He placed his hands on the table and narrowed his eyes in thought. The emergency department doctor had stated in his report that Henry didn't have any soot on his body or in his airway. That would be consistent with his discovery of Brent's clean airway and clean lab and toxicology results. Since Brent's death had occurred before the fire…

"I lost consciousness after I tried to save Brent but before the fire engulfed both apartments." _So, how did I escape the fire?_

A thought suddenly crossed Henry's mind. It made sense in some ways, but it also begged more questions than answers.

He looked over at Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —to see her reaction. Her wide eyes and open mouth indicated that she had drawn the same conclusion.

"Someone removed you from the apartment before the fire spread to it." She wrinkled her eyebrows and thought for a moment. "That explains a lot."

Something about her tone of voice indicated that she believed that it could be an explanation for something else as well. He pushed the thought out of his mind; he was likely imagining things.

"I still need to take a look at the hoodie under the microscope to confirm our theory, but, yes, it appears to be that way." He sighed. There should be more clues.

His and Detective Martinez's conversation in the car during the trip to WNYL's studios came back to him. "I also should read Fire Marshall Gideons' report." He inhaled. "I need to go to the—." He suddenly blanked out on the name of the room. "It's a room that one goes to for their post—" his heart began to pound at the mention of the last word "—mail room and see if it's in there. Do you know where it is?"

For a moment, she looked a little worried, but her facial features softened in the next instant. "No, but there should be signs on your floor that would direct you to it."

He focused on a spot just beyond him as he felt her words slow his heartrate. His momentary use of British English again had prevented him from remembering his first day of work. The signs posted throughout the building had helped him find his way to the OCME then, and he did remember seeing directional signs on his floor as well.

"So." Detective Martinez's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Someone opens the apartment door, pulls you out, and closes the door, leaving Brent behind—"

"He or she takes me to East River Park, dumps my body near the river, and—." He knitted his own eyebrows. "Leaves?"

"Your 'rescuer' left you under some trees near a sidewalk." She paused. "He or she wanted someone to find you alive."

"But who would do that?"

Maybe she would have some additional insight. One glance at her eyes, though, told him that she had no answers for him.

She sighed, closed her eyes, reached behind her neck, and started to rub it. The ache had spread to her shoulders.

His heart broke for her. He wanted to do something that would take away both her pain and her emotional tension. Something like—.

He pulled off his gloves and laid them down next to the hoodie. "Would you like a massage?"

Her eyes flew open, and she stared at him. Her hand slid off her neck. "What?" She opened her mouth a couple of times. "How do you know how to give one?"

"Abe taught me how to give a massage while we were talking the other night." One of Abe's stories about his days at Berkeley had reminded him of the girlfriend who was a masseuse, and he had gleefully decided to teach Henry right then.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Abe?" She then smiled. "He's a man of many talents, just like his f—." She stopped. "Just like you."

The pained look in her eyes focused his attention onto her and not her unusual pause.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It couldn't hurt."

Henry walked around the table, pulled out a chair, set it near her, and turned it around. Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —submissively sat down in it.

He studied her shoulders and neck as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He could work with the cloth. Her loose hair, however, produced a different challenge.

He reached out to pull her long, dark brown hair back. The second that he gathered the strands into his hands, a strong tingle spread throughout his body.

He dropped her hair in surprise, and his breath caught in his throat. Was this what love physically felt like?

"Everything okay back there?" She turned around and looked at him.

He took a needed breath and then blinked to bring himself out of his thoughts. "A massage is quite an intimate gesture, usually given by someone whom a person completely trusts."

He swallowed. He needed to say this. "We haven't talked about our relationship yet. We apparently have been very close friends for a while, and I don't want to lose that. If I give you a massage, I feel that this would change things between us."

She narrowed her eyes, both in pain and in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

His eyes met hers, and, because of his earlier thought, he reminded himself to breathe. "I've fallen in love with you."

Her eyes suddenly widened again, and she opened and closed her mouth several times.

As he studied her expression, he took a deep breath to calm his suddenly racing heart. _What if I'm wrong about her feelings toward me? What if she doesn't feel the same way?_

"I love you too." A smile began to grow on her face.

At first, he couldn't believe his ears. Then, joy sprung up and overflowed within him as they grinned at their admission. They no longer were a couple in name only, acting independently of each other but longing to be together. Their shared love now bound them to each other—.

Detective Martinez's— _Jo's?_ —eyes suddenly shut, and she squeezed them tight as she rubbed her forehead. Her headache would not allow them any time to revel in their newfound reality.

"Time for that massage, huh?" She turned around in her chair.

He once again reached out and took her hair. Once again, a strong tingle came over him the second that he touched her hair. This time, he breathlessly gathered it together, gingerly twisted it, and gently laid it over her shoulder.

He viewed her back and neck as he reviewed the technique that Abe had taught him. He quickly identified the location of her spine and shoulder blades. He studied the chair's back, and the top of it landed just below her shoulder blades.

He placed his fingers on the top of her nape and pressed his fingers into her neck. "How does this feel?"

"Could you press down a little harder?"

He followed her instructions. "How about now?"

"Yeah. That feels good."

Pleased with the knowledge of her preferred amount of pressure, he slowly slid his hands down toward her shoulders and then over them. As he moved his hands, he felt several knots. He noted their locations so that he could apply more pressure to them later.

He then removed his hands from her body and placed them again on her neck. He made two additional slow, gentle sweeps over her neck and shoulders. Remembering another step, he placed his hands on the sides of her neck and gradually moved his hands down to her shoulders and then up to her ears.

She suddenly let out a moan.

He stopped, his hands just under her ears. He was working on a very delicate area of the human body. "Have I hurt you?"

"Keep going." He could barely hear her muffled, relaxed voice.

He widened his eyes, chortled in joy, and shook his head. She was enjoying her massage.

He looked at her nape to redirect his attention to his task. He immediately swept his hands over her neck and shoulders again. As he touched the area between her shoulder blades, she instantly leaned back into his hands, and he could feel that her breathing had become slower. He smiled. A state of deep relaxation had overwhelmed her, and she had finally allowed herself to rest.

He finished his sweeps and directed his attention to her knots. He located the first one, pressed his thumb into it, and kneaded it until he felt it disappear. He then moved onto each one and kneaded them into relaxation.

After the last knot disappeared, he moved his hands back to her nape. He kneaded her neck and shoulders with his thumbs and then glided his hands over the areas. In another pass, he made small circles with his fingertips as he worked his way down.

He then placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged the front of her shoulders with his fingers. As he worked the area, he noticed how focused he was on his task. He gave the observation no thought and let it pass.

He continued the motions for a while. Eventually, he began to worry that he might overwork her muscles. He wanted to keep going to let her continue her rest, but she would be more comfortable in her home. He reluctantly gave her shoulders one last rub and lifted his hands off of them.

"How do you feel?" Knowing that she needed a few moments to leave her slumber, he watched for her arousal.

At first, she remained still. She then slowly stirred, turned around, and looked at him. She blinked her eyes and smiled. "Wow! I feel great!"

She stood up and turned fully toward him. As she stepped forward, her weight shifted toward him, and she grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself.

She ran her free hand through her hair and chuckled. "I must be more relaxed than I thought."

He grinned. He then inhaled as he beheld her relaxed face and her radiant smile. In that moment, her eyes shone brighter than he had ever seen them. Her face glowed with joy, and her hair, cheeks, and lips glistened under the harsh florescent light.

If he could take his eyes off her, he had no desire to look at anything else. The light only accentuated her classical beauty. A multitude of buried impulses began to awaken deep inside him. If he could move, he longed to act solely in response to what was stirring in the depths of his soul.

"Are you two still in there?"

Lt. Reece's authoritative voice shocked him out of his state. Henry looked over Detective Martinez's shoulder. He then took another look at her. Her mouth was open, and her cheeks had spontaneously flushed.

Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —turned toward the door. "Yes."

The door opened, revealing her superior. Lt. Reece maintained a neutral expression, but the look in her eyes suggested that she was slightly amused by the situation.

Her eyes moved from Detective Martinez to him. "Your boss wants to know where you are." She looked back at her subordinate. "As for you…" She stopped and studied the detective. "I'll take you home myself. Don't worry about your car."

Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —turned back to him and started to say something before deciding to smile again. She silently laid her free hand on his chest, and he held his breath when he sensed that her hand was over his heart. Her light touch forestalled his thoughts, and he felt his impulses return and grow more intense.

Lt. Reece cleared her throat, and the spell that had come over them immediately broke. Henry took a deep breath to get some needed air.

With a slightly disappointed look, Detective Martinez slowly removed her hand from his chest, turned toward the other woman, and toddled toward her. Lt. Reece stepped into the room and wrapped an arm around Detective Martinez's waist to offer her support.

She looked over at the table as she wound Detective Martinez's arm around her neck. "What had you found?"

It took Henry a few moments to remember that they were still in the evidence room in pursuit of a lead. "I still have to examine the hoodie under a microscope, but, so far, we've seen Brent's blood and what appears to be a dirt stain. We're certain that someone had pulled me out of the apartment in the moments before the fire and moved me to East River Park."

She nodded. "I'll help you with the chain of custody. Just let me get her seated in a chair first." With that, the two women left.

Henry picked up the gloves and put them back on. As he lifted the hoodie and began to refold it, he thought about Lt. Reece's sudden presence. It would seem that she knew everything that happened in the building.

That wasn't possible, not unless she had some assistance. Wondering what else was in the room, he surveyed his surroundings. He looked up and noticed a black dome protruding from the ceiling. He suddenly felt the impression that he should be frightened by it, but he wasn't.

He shook his head. He was imagining things. His parents would have shunned the object, and he was feeling their influence long after their deaths.

He pressed the folds down and smoothed them. He removed the bag from the table's surface, and, as he inserted the hoodie into it, he looked at the piece of clothing. At the moment, he vaguely remembered telling Jo about the hoodie while they were still at her desk.

He froze for a moment and then smiled. He immediately knew why that memory was vague, and it wasn't because of his amnesia. Strangely, Jo's massage had relaxed him almost as much as it had relaxed her.

 _Jo_. His natural use of that name in his thoughts woke him up. He needed to confirm her first name before he accidently invoked her wrath if it wasn't what he thought it was. If he had the opportunity, he should either look at her nameplate on her desk or mention his recent tendency to her.

He sighed. His plan would have to wait until Monday. They both had the day off tomorrow, and Lt. Reece was taking her home today.

He laid it in the box and removed his gloves. He picked up the file folder and looked at it for a moment. Perhaps he should read the file as well; it could contain a clue into his amnesia.

As he closed the box and took the handles, he smiled. Honestly, the amnesia and the case were merely passing thoughts. Right now, he was as calm and relaxed as he was when he had left Detective Martinez's— _Jo's?_ —coffee on her desk.

He had four days to jog his memory, though. Maybe he could ask everyone about his past in the coming days to see if something in their stories would spark something. The way that he was feeling right now, they could tell him the most fantastical story, and he would be inclined to believe them.

Henry quickly shifted the fairly light box onto his hip and used his free hand to open the door. He kicked it open and crossed over the threshold. He stepped into the hallway just as the door swung closed behind him.

He searched the area for the woman he loved, but he was disappointed to find that she wasn't there. The sight of Lt. Reece in the hallway prevented any additional thought about Detective Martinez's whereabouts. The other woman directed him to the desk, and he obediently followed her instructions.

Once he filled out the paperwork, he turned back toward the hallway. When he saw that the women, both clothed in coats, hats, and scarves, were seated in front of him, his heart skipped a beat. He quickly joined them as they stood and as Lt. Reece wrapped her arm around Detective Martinez.

He quietly accompanied them as they wound their way through the hallways and toward the elevators. Occasionally, he stole a glance at a very relaxed Detective Martinez— _Jo?_ —and grinned. He rejoiced in his ability to shoulder some of her burden like he had wanted.

When they reached the elevators, he pushed the down button on the control panel, turned around, and took one last look at Jo. He smiled as their eyes met, and she grinned at him. He reveled in their shared love for each other as Lt. Reece gently guided her toward the building's exit. They were, as Hanson had put it, together.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** To all fellow Jenry shippers, you're welcome! Okay, it's not a first kiss, but hopefully the massage made up for it! By the way, if Lt. Reece didn't interrupt them, Henry would have kissed Jo within the next few moments. As for that surveillance camera in the room, whether anything is on the security footage will be dealt with in another chapter.

My sources for smoke were Wikipedia ( wiki/Smoke#Chemical_composition) and this site.. Henry's comment about people ridding their closets of the smell of smoke is pure Henry.


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note** : There are references to "Look Before You Leap", "6 A.M.", "The Man in the Killer Suit", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", "Memories of Murder", "Dead Men Tell Long Tales", and "Punk Is Dead".

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

Henry didn't realize how much mail that he received on a weekly basis.

He strode past Wahl mounting a sample of the hoodie's black patch onto a slide and stepped into his office. He glanced at the stack of envelopes, magazines, and a thick manila envelope as he set the pile down on his desk. He wished that he had thought of going to the mail room earlier. If so, he might not have to sort all this.

He smiled as he slipped around his desk and sat down in his chair. He was grateful that Jo's suggestion had calmed his growing sense of panic about his memory issues and enabled him to remember the signs; it made learning the mail room's location relatively easy.

He stopped himself. He didn't want to sabotage his relationship with Detective Martinez, but he was increasingly calling her "Jo" in his thoughts with each passing moment. It was as though his mind had accepted it as fact without any concrete evidence for it. So far, he had been able to refrain from uttering it. Hopefully, he could prevent himself from verbally using it until he could determine her first name.

 _Refrain from uttering it_. His eyes darted around the room at the thought. It was so easy—almost instinctive—to cut himself off and to change his statement when he had almost slipped. How was he able to prevent the name from escaping his lips?

Then again, why was it so effortless for him to conceal his amnesia? He had hid it so well that none of the people whom he cared about had known about it for almost a week, and it had nearly cost him his memory.

He sighed. There was only one possible explanation for his behavior. He must have been a compulsive liar once in his past, and he had never completely rid himself of the habit after he had reformed himself. If so, that would change, starting with Detective Martinez's name. Fortunately, Monday, he would have the opportunity to correct that.

He smiled again as he placed his hands on the stack. Hopefully, Jo could rest throughout the weekend. Between her work and recent events, she deserved to have every bit of relaxation that her massage could give her.

His skin abruptly tingled at his thought of her massage, and he found the sensation quite delightful. He closed his eyes and brought the end of the massage and the moment before she had left the evidence room back to his mind. He recalled the sparkle in her eyes, the glow of her face, the gentle touch of her hand on his chest. In those few precious moments, she took his breath away and enraptured him. He felt impulses to touch her again, to—.

The rattle of glass forced its way into Henry's mind and interrupted his pleasurable memory. He opened his eyes in time to see Wahl lift his hand away from the glass beakers on a cart in front of him, turn, and walk away with the slide in his other hand.

Henry softly chuckled as he directed his attention to the stack of mail in front of him. He wouldn't be able to get any work done if he continued to think about that moment. Tonight, as he prepared for bed, he would afford himself the liberty to indulge in that memory again.

He took a deep breath, more from an apparent habit than anything else, and looked at the pile. He immediately identified several of the letters as bills for the shop or as advertisements. He set the bills to one side and dropped the unwanted letters— _junk mail?_ —into the trash can beside him.

He looked at the next envelope, and his eyes widened. It was a bill from Paul Stuart. He had wanted to browse the store's contents when he had seen the boxes a few days ago, but he didn't realize that he was an established customer. He opened the envelope and pulled out the invoice. His mouth opened at the sight of the price of the new suits that he had apparently bought and had tailored a little over two weeks ago. How could he afford his clothes while working for the city?

At that moment, he could see himself walking down a sidewalk with Detective Martinez as she affectionately commented on his preferred style and a couple of other things about him. He could feel the winter night's cold air trying to cool his warm exposed face. Within the next instant, the sensations vanished as quickly as they came.

He sat motionlessly and breathlessly in his chair. Every fiber in his being yearned for the memory to return. He willed the moment back into existence. He stared at the bill in an effort to coax the memory back into his thoughts.

He huffed when he realized that the memory wasn't coming back easily. Hopefully, he could discover whatever had triggered it so that he could remember it again. He took one last look at the Paul Stuart invoice, folded it back up, inserted it back into the envelope, and set it on top of the rest of the bills.

He lifted the magazines up to see the address on the manila envelope. He smiled as he realized that Fire Marshall Gideons had sent it. Henry then peered at the stamp and frowned when he had seen that the man had mailed it earlier in the week. Henry hated himself for unintentionally delaying the other man's—and his and Detective Martinez's own—investigation. He would look at it after he sorted the rest of the mail. He picked up the envelope and laid it on top of the folders on his desk.

He proceeded to look through the magazines. He noticed that a couple of them were catalogs for medical and laboratory equipment. He flipped through them, and several items in each piqued his interest. Not caring about how the suppliers had obtained his name and address, he set the catalogs on top of his bills so that he could look through them back at the shop.

One glance at the last magazine, _The Explorers Club Journal_ , caused his eyes to narrow in confusion. Nothing in his life indicated that he was a member of the organization. How in the world did they get his name?

He studied it for a second as he tried to ascertain a reason to keep it. Unable to determine any, he removed it from his desk and lowered it to the trash can.

"No!"

Henry looked up at the sound of Wahl's voice. Wahl stood in the threshold with both hands stretched out in front of him.

"Don't do that!" He lowered his hands and stepped into the room almost as if he belonged there.

"And why not?"

Wahl looked him in the eye as he stepped around the chairs. "You might want it later." He cocked his head. "Besides, I might see an article that I would like—."

Henry studied the young man. He wasn't being a good friend right now. Since the magazine meant so much to Wahl…

Henry readjusted his hold on the document as he raised it up to his desk. He reoriented the periodical so it could become a present and extended it to Wahl. "You can keep it. If I want to read it, I'll borrow it from you."

Wahl's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped open. He reverentially took the magazine from Henry's hand. As he drew it near him, Wahl's mouth closed and opened several times. Then, Wahl slowly lowered himself in the chair behind him, opened the magazine, and began to skim the articles.

Wahl looked up and started talking, but Henry couldn't hear him. When he looked at his assistant, the young man's blue scrub top had disappeared, leaving his long-sleeved, gray shirt. Based on his angle of observation, Henry was _standing_ behind his desk as he listened guardedly to the other man.

Henry blinked several times and shook his head. The image faded and then disappeared.

"Are you okay?" Wahl closed the magazine and laid it on top of the desk. "Do I need to call anyone?"

Henry stared at Wahl in disbelief at the sudden sight. "I think that I've just had a case of déjà vu."

Wahl's eyes widened. "Oh my—." He smiled and leaned forward. "Did you have a memory of me?" His smile grew into a grin as his expression became more gleeful. "Let me guess—."

A knock silenced Wahl. The two men turned toward the sound.

Another young man stood in the doorway. "I'm Charlie from CSU. We've finished processing the Honda Accord that was brought in yesterday. We couldn't find anything wrong with it, but we were told that you spotted some evidence in it when it was found. Do you want to try to find what you had seen?"

Henry and Wahl looked at each other. Henry thought that CSU would never ask.

* * *

As they walked toward the automotive processing room, Henry listened to Wahl. Each assumption that Wahl made about the sudden memory was becoming more and more ridiculous.

"Maybe we were cruising the streets after collecting some evidence from a club. I was the swashbuckling knight in shining armor to a damsel in distress, and you—."

Although that last idea fleetingly reminded Henry of something—two events, actually,—it was also the most preposterous one that Wahl had uttered. The NYPD wouldn't allow the OCME to collect evidence other than what was found on the bodies, would they?

Henry finally stopped and stared at his assistant. Fortunately, Wahl acknowledged Henry's action by stopping and turning to him.

Henry inhaled. "I hate to disappoint you, but what I had seen wasn't any of those ideas. I merely saw you seated in one of the chairs with the magazine in your hands and talking to me. The only differences were that you weren't wearing your scrubs and that I stood behind my desk." _Why was I guarded then?_

Wahl gaped at him. "So, that's what you meant by 'déjà vu'."

"I believe that what the expression means." He stopped himself; his voice unexpectedly became slightly irritated. He softened his voice. "It comes from the French for 'already seen'." _How do I know French?_

Wahl suddenly lost himself in thought. After a moment, his eyes widened, and he shook a finger at Henry. "I think I know when that memory occurred."

Henry's own eyes widened as his interest piqued. To avoid blockage of the hallway, he resumed his walk. "When was that?"

"That was our first year working with the NYPD. We were called in to process the body of Rick Rasmussen—."

 _Rick Rasmussen_. The name sounded familiar.

"It was definitely one of our cooler cases. That's not to say that all of our cases haven't been interesting. They've become much more action-filled since we've been working with—."

"Hey, Dr. Morgan!"

Henry slowed his pace and looked at the source of Wahl's interruption. An attendant pushed an empty gurney toward them.

Wahl waved. "Hey, Carl! What's up?"

Carl stopped and leaned on the gurney. "I heard that Dr. Lippmann had assigned you and Drs. Newell and Lebron to handle Dr. Washington's backlog starting Monday."

Henry thought back to the three men's assignment. "He had unofficially given us some of it over the past few days, but he made it official today by assigning us all of Dr. Washington's bodies. I'm glad that Dr. Lippmann has agreed to let us and our usual assistants have the day off tomorrow. From the sounds of things, we have quite a bit of work ahead of us."

"Great! Maybe after you get done with the extra bodies, I might get a break from pushing all of them around." Carl straightened up and began to roll the gurney toward the coolers.

Henry turned to Wahl as he recalled the meeting. "I'm sorry that I didn't mention it earlier. I—"

Wahl waved a hand. "It's okay. With everything going on with you, it's understandable." He then thought for a moment before gaping at Henry. "What happened? Did the CME fire Dr. Washington?"

Henry smiled as they continued toward the automotive processing room. "Not exactly. Dr. Washington protested the re-assignment by stating that everyone would be able to finish their work in a timely fashion if the assistants and I would focus more on our work than on our personal theories. In response, Dr. Lippmann suspended Dr. Washington because of the backlog and his treatment of your fellow assistant medical examiners."

"Really?" Wahl gaped at Henry. Then, he made a fist, raised it in the air, and pulled it down. "Yes!" He tilted his head back and straightened it. "I was wondering how much longer Dr. Lippmann would put up with his behavior. I mean, I've had trouble with him since your month-long break back in 2015, but it's about time!"

 _Why did I need to take a long break from work? Was it health-related? Had Abe taken ill and I needed to care for him during that time? "Taken ill"? Who even says that? I hadn't heard anyone use it._

Wahl's enthusiastic cheers pulled Henry out of his thoughts. He looked at his assistant and smiled. Somehow, he wouldn't be surprised if Dr. Washington had treated everyone, including Detective Martinez— _Jo_ —execrably.

At that moment, the image of three other people and him standing around a corpse in the autopsy room came back. He could almost see Wahl, Detective Martinez, and Dr. Washington in the fragment of memory now.

"Dr. Morgan!"

Henry stopped. He looked down the hallway and saw Jeff and Dr. Lebron walking down the hallway.

Jeff spoke up. "Henry! Great speech! You really channeled _Hamilton_ when delivering it."

"Hamilton?" The names of several people sharing that appellation streamed through his mind. "Which person?"

Jeff and Dr. Lebron looked at each other, and Jeff turned back to Henry. "You haven't seen the musical about Alexander Hamilton yet, huh?"

Henry widened his eyes and then self-consciously chuckled. "I'm afraid not, Jeff."

"Get some tickets and take your girlfriend to it, if she's into that sort of thing. I think you'll like it." Dr. Lebron patted Henry on the back, and the two doctors stepped around him.

"We'll catch you later, Henry." Jeff held his hand up in the air.

Henry awkwardly mimicked Jeff's gesture and let him slap his hand as they passed. While he watched his two colleagues, he let Jeff's words linger in his mind. Something didn't sound right in them. Shouldn't his speech have reminded Jeff of something with a _British_ politician in it?

Then again, no, it shouldn't. British history generally wasn't taught in American schools. Children either learned about British history from books or from a parent who was born in the United Kingdom. _How do I know that? The only child whom I've seen in my presence is the infant in the unusual photograph with my late wife and myself. Was the babe ours?_

The squeak of Wahl's shoes on the waxed floor caused Henry to turn back to him.

"Jeff. You're on a first-name basis with him." Dejection and a sense of longing entered Wahl's voice as he tried to hide his emotions. "That's great. It sounds like you're making a new friend."

Henry's heart broke at Wahl's underlying assumption. "I would never ignore you. You're one of my oldest friends, and I cannot neglect our friendship." He tilted his head. "I may have forgotten our connection for the time being" _and apparently have forgotten your first name_ , "but I otherwise cannot replace you."

Wahl started chuckling and then stopped. "Sorry, you said 'oldest'. I can't be, considering you're…" He paused and briefly lowered his head. When he raised it, he smiled. "Thanks."

A moment passed. "What's this about a speech?" Before Henry could answer, Wahl started grinning. "Was it like the fiery ones that you gave in the early 1800s?"

Henry stared at Wahl. He wasn't sure what was more surprising: the comment about his age or Wahl's knowledge of his unexpected passionate speech about the welfare of the assistant medical examiners after Dr. Washington's criticism of his work with the NYPD.

Wahl pinched his nose. "You know what. Forget I even said that."

Wahl's comment about their friendship raised a question. The continuation of the story of Rick Rasmussen's death would have to wait. "When did we meet?"

"In 2011. You had been worked as Dr. Talbert Ross' assistant medical examiner for two years before the CME assigned me to you."

2009, 2011, and 2015. Those years were relatively recent.

Years. He now knew when three events in his life had occurred.

Henry stopped in his tracks. Tears of joy began to form in his eyes. It felt good to know the years which anchored his life's events in time's stream.

He inhaled as he suppressed his tears. He couldn't let Wahl see him like this. It was unbecoming of him. _Unbecoming?_

He glanced over at Wahl, but the other man wasn't there. Wahl was already several steps ahead of him and turning down another hallway leading to their destination. Henry picked up his pace and quickly rejoined his assistant. Hopefully, they could find what he had seen yesterday.

* * *

They walked into the room which Jo had pulled him into a couple of days ago. Wahl located a cart and removed several packages from the drawers. After closing the last drawer, he then laid everything down on the table and began to sort the plastic bags.

Henry peered into the larger room and stared at the Honda Accord. It was difficult to believe that Titus had killed himself. Based on the amount of water that he had Wahl had found in the graduate student's lungs, Henry would argue that Titus was murdered before his car went into the pool. Yet, the findings were circumstantial. He wished that he had paid attention to everyone's theories last night; one of them could produce a clue in the case.

He smiled. He had an excellent excuse for his inattention, though.

"Here."

Wahl's implied order interrupted his thoughts. He saw something in his peripheral vision and looked down. Wahl held out two packages and a pair of gloves.

Henry took the bags, set them on a table with several items on it, and put on his gloves. He looked at Wahl and copied his assistant's rapid moves to tear open the plastic bag and pull out its contents.

As he followed Wahl's lead in putting on the suit, something seemed off. It was almost as if they were missing someone in their group. Henry shook his head. One of the technicians likely supervised them during an earlier case.

After they finished zipping their suits and put on the booties, Wahl looked over at him. "Well, are you ready for your first auto-autopsy since—" He lowered his voice as a technician passed. "—your amnesia started?"

For a second, Henry could see himself saying "auto-autopsy" to Jo near an unfamiliar door. Then, he could see her giving Wahl a scowl when he chuckled at the pun while they were in this very room.

Henry looked at a spot past Wahl. _When did that occur?_

He turned back to his waiting assistant. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay." Wahl placed a hand on Henry's shoulder as he stepped around him.

Wahl appeared to possess a sense of serenity. "Why are you so calm in spite of the recent turn of events?"

Wahl turned his head toward Henry as they made their way to Titus' sedan. "Honestly, I'm not. It's the worst news that I've ever received, right up there with my grandmother's death, but I look at things this way. Either I can think that the situation's hopeless and do nothing or I can help you fight this and hope you'll get your memory back. I learned years ago that it's better to keep trying until you either succeed or exhaust all options. As they say, hope dies last."

"Where did you learn that? Your parents?"

Wahl grinned. "No, from you."

Henry felt strangely flattered as they neared the car. He didn't realize how much he had influenced his friend.

Henry walked around to the passenger's side door and peered into the vehicle for a moment. Unlike yesterday, he couldn't see what he had discovered.

"What are we looking for?"

Henry looked over the car's roof. "While we were at the scene, I saw something under the accelerator. I was in the process of retrieving it when I had my flashback."

"Maybe it moved when the car was towed."

At first, Henry wanted to wrinkle his eyebrows in confusion. Then, he remembered seeing a couple of tow trucks while sitting in traffic over the past week. He bit his lower lip in thought and used the image of the tow trucks to surmise how the car was pulled out of the pool.

"Of course!" He marched around the front of the car. Wahl stepped back and let him open the door.

Henry wedged himself between the door hinge and the body and squatted down. As he leaned into the car, he almost bumped his head on the steering wheel. He ducked down, backed up, and straightened his back.

"This is almost like crawling into a 1966 Ford Mustang." _Where did that come from?_

Wahl gasped. "You owned a 'Stang?! Uncharacteristic of you, but cool! Wait! Do you remember it?"

"I don't think it was mine." That comment felt right. Maybe someone he knew had owned the vehicle in question.

He hunched down and looked behind the accelerator. His eyes widened when he saw his prize.

He excitedly reached in to take it, but it was slightly out of reach. He angled his body toward the car's interior and leaned in. His fingertips brushed the object's top, and he pressed down on it. To his surprise, it dislodged itself from its hiding spot and slid down to the floorboard. He pulled his arm toward him and picked up the object in one fluid motion before easing himself out of the car.

Euphoria filled him as he closed the door and triumphantly turned to Wahl. He knew that he was right.

Wahl raised his eyebrows but appeared unimpressed. "A block of wood? Not our most interesting clue."

Henry studied the block as he fingered it. "Maybe not." He then enthusiastically gestured at Wahl. "But Titus' murderer wanted us to believe that Titus had killed himself. The second that the car went into the pool, Titus' survival instinct would have kicked in, and he would've tried to escape. Even if he was semi-conscious when he drowned, we would have found him in a position other than that of a driver." _How do I know that? Is that knowledge connected to my near-drowning?_

The weight of the block drew his attention to it. He looked down and sighed. Today, he was more passionate than ever, even to the point of being excited about an unfortunate death. What had caused these changes in him?

"I'm usually not like this."

Wahl softly chuckled, forcing Henry to turn to the young man. "Actually, it happens more frequently than you remember right now." He used a pause to study his boss' face. "Deaths usually bother you more than any other person here since you know what the families are going through."

Henry nodded as they started back to the smaller room. In spite of the strangeness of Wahl's comment, it appeared to Henry that he wasn't as callous as he was starting to believe he was.

Henry looked at the block. "It's too bad that the water had washed away any additional evidence. We could have used it to link the block to its owner."

"Maybe we can trace it to a store." Wahl motioned for the item, and Henry handed it to him. "I think it's spruce, fir, or pine." He sighed. "You can find any of those woods at any big box hardware store or lumberyard."

Impressed by Wahl's knowledge, Henry stared at him.

"What? I went to a hardware store to pick up some supplies for my latest horror-erotica film." Wahl gave the block back to Henry and began to ramble about his film.

They stepped into the other room. As Henry laid the block on the table to pull off his gloves, he noticed three books and a canister. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the titles.

He looked up and saw Charlie walk into the room. "Charlie? Are these from the Honda?"

"Yeah." Charlie brushed past him.

Curious about the canister's contents, Henry exchanged gloves and picked it up. He found the top, twisted it off, reached in and pulled out its contents.

"What's this?"

He unrolled the paper and laid it on the table next to them. As he studied it, he saw that the sketched land mass was divided into numerous fields. The legend in the bottom right corner told him that one John Hodgkins had created the map of New York in 1783.

 _1783_. Henry felt that something important had happened that year, and it wasn't just the end of the American Revolution.

Suddenly, a row of ornate gold buttons adorning a green coat appeared before him. Entranced by the sight, he reached up to take one—.

"Wow!"

Jeff's voice startled Henry out of the latest daydream. Henry felt both of his hands still on the document.

"Is that a Hodgkins map?"

Henry nodded.

"Brent had mentioned finding it at an estate sale a couple of weeks ago. Why would Titus have it?"

Henry stared at his colleague in disbelief. Brent and Titus were connected?

Jeff nervously looked at Henry. "Maybe I should have mentioned it to Detectives Martinez and Hanson earlier, huh?"

* * *

Lucas watched the two men leave the room and walk toward the hallway. When he had learned how much time they had left before Henry's amnesia became permanent, the news had hit him hard. Shocked, he sat in his seat and stared into space until Abe had reminded him that they needed to tell everyone else.

He disposed of his suit and packed the block of wood and Titus' belongings into a box to take them back to the autopsy room. He didn't know what had come over him after Henry had said that he had déjà vu. The second that he had mentioned Henry's speeches at abolitionist meetings, Abe's words about the dangers of telling him came back, and Lucas stopped himself from mentioning any more about Henry's past.

The strange thing was the look on Henry's face suggested that Henry might have believed him when he revealed that Henry was old enough to live in the early 1800s, and the comment might have prompted a memory to return. While he was inspecting the map, Henry looked as though he was having another trip into his past. Also, it seemed like the Henry he knew was back during the auto-autopsy.

Screw Abe. If telling Henry about his past helped to jog his memory, so be it. They needed every tool at their disposal, and they shouldn't let a dead woman dictate their actions.

Well, maybe he shouldn't tell Henry that he's immortal. He didn't want his friend to become a human guinea pig for whatever evil scientist who would watch his death and vanishing happen.

Lucas smiled. For the first time today, he had hope that they would succeed. He looked at the block of wood, picked up the box, and strolled toward the autopsy room.

* * *

Lt. Reece looked over at Henry as they waited for Mike to enter the interrogation room. For an immortal who had just received a virtual death sentence, he was looking too content about his circumstances.

"Henry?"

"Hmm…"

The second that he turned to her, she recognized the dreamy look on his face. She had seen it only a few times before recently, and, every time that he had worn that expression, he had been with Jo earlier in the day.

Lt. Reece resisted the urge to hint that she had watched him massage Jo while she had studied some for another case in the surveillance room. Chances were that he had already deduced what had happened. Even if he somehow hadn't, it was best for her to not reveal her secrets.

"In case you're wondering, we got Detective Martinez—" her heart clenched at the necessary use of Jo's title and last name "—and her car home safely."

"How did you return her car to her residence?"

The door creaked open, and Lt. Reece saw Mike's reflection in the window.

"Sorry about that." The other detective limped toward the other door. "I needed to take an aspirin. I still can't believe that I had slipped and fell on her wet doorstep."

"Hanson." Henry's voice drifted from behind her. "Be sure to prop your ankle up and put some ice on it when you return home."

She slightly shook her head. _Always a doctor_.

She looked at Mike. "Take the rest of the day and tomorrow off."

"Thanks." Mike hobbled over to the other room and entered it.

Lt. Reece focused her attention onto her subordinate and Dr. Newell. Judging from Henry's reflection in the glass, he was determining that Mike had helped her take Jo home.

Mike inhaled as he walked to the table and laid his hands on it. "Dr. Newell, I'm having a bit of a bad day, so I'll cut to the chase. You've said that you knew Titus Forsyth. How?"

Dr. Newell looked Mike right in the eye. "I haven't met him. I've only heard Brent mention him a few times. Titus helped him organize his lectures at Baruch College over the years." He glanced down for a moment. "A few months ago, Brent heard that Titus needed cash for graduate school, so he offered him a position as a cashier at this antiques shop that he owned with Gene Tomberlin."

Lt. Reece's interest piqued at the mention of Jo, Mike, and Henry's other victim. She shifted her weight and peered into the room.

Mike sat down in the chair beside him, leaned forward, and folded his hands together. "Gene Tomberlin? What do you know about him?"

"He and Brent were friends in college. After graduation, he got a job working for a Fortune 500 company. When the economy tanked, the company he worked for went bankrupt, and he lost his job. One day, he and Brent ran into each other. They decided to go to an estate sale in the West Village, where they bought several posters and paintings on the cheap. They resold them on eBay, and one of their buyers recognized that they had an authentic Rembrandt print and paid them fair market value for it. That's when they decided to open their shop."

"How successful was it?"

"They pooled together their savings to open it. Once word got out about their finds, business picked up. They receive a lot of business from Tribeca and the East Village, and, the last that I heard, they had been overwhelmed with buyers."

"I bet they didn't like their cashier leaving."

"You've got it wrong." Dr. Newell appeared agitated. "They knew how important Titus' dissertation was, and they've actually been _encouraging_ him to leave his job with them after he had applied for funding."

"How about you? You didn't mention anything about Titus and Gene until now. Maybe you were jealous of the amount of time that they took away from you and your cousin."

Dr. Newell at first stammered. "I didn't kill them!" The ME's voice rose and wavered. "I've met Gene only once, and he seemed nice! I can't believe that he's gone!" He inhaled. "I was so upset about Brent's death that I didn't think about mentioning them."

Mike shifted in his seat. "What about the Hodgkins map?"

"Brent had some free time a little over two weeks ago, so he went to an estate sale in Queens. He bought the map and wanted to get it appraised. Unfortunately, neither Gene nor Brent knew of anyone who specialized in them." He thought for a moment. "Maybe Titus knew of someone at Baruch College and was taking it to them when he died."

Lt. Reece watched as Mike pushed his seat away from the table and headed to them. He stepped into the room. "Doc, what do you think?"

Henry stared into the room and then looked at them. "This may be my new friendship with Jeff, as Mr. Wahl calls it, but Jeff had neither the motive nor the opportunity to kill either man. Dr. Washington's backlog might be frustrating, but it wouldn't drive a man who's concerned about both the dead and the living to murder. Quitting the OCME or attacking Dr. Washington maybe, but not murder. As for the shop, Brent and Gene would need someone to assist them and Titus with the volume of business. We may have another potential victim."

Lt. Reece stared at Henry. He had a point.

She peered back into the interrogation room. "Ask Dr. Newell about any of their colleagues."

"Will do." Mike poked his head through the door. "Did anyone else work with them?"

Dr. Newell glanced up. "Yeah, but I don't know their name. Gene hired him or her a few weeks before Titus learned that he was a finalist for the grant."

Lt. Reece nodded to Mike, and he motioned for the other medical examiner to leave the interrogation room. Dr. Newell somberly walked past them, waving to Henry as he left.

She now could see why Henry had urged caution about his thoughts. Jeff might be Henry's first friend outside of his inner circle since who knows when.

She looked back at Henry and Mike. "I don't want anyone with a badge to take the map outside of the building without permission from me."

"Yes, ma'am." Both men chimed.

Her heart sunk. She hadn't seen Henry's blank face when she had requested Henry's collection of evidence since his first year of working with them.

"Henry, take the map home with you. Abe might know about it or know someone who does."

His eyes widened in surprise, and she inhaled to steady her unexpected emotions. "What's keeping you?"

"I'll take it back to the shop tonight." He paused. "I should go back to the automotive processing room and get it." With that, he walked past her and toward the door.

As the door closed, she stared at it. She knew that Henry had amnesia, but today was the first day that she had really noticed it. Policy dictated that she shouldn't fraternize with her subordinates, both official and unofficial, so she hadn't seen what Abe, Jo, Mike, and Lucas saw while they were with him.

She wished that she could help them jog Henry's memory. If he metaphorically died, _she_ would miss him, quirks and all.

Remembering what she had just seen, she smiled. For a moment, it seemed as though the old Henry had returned. It appeared that Abe and Jo were right about Henry's memory still being intact. Hopefully, something in this case would unlock his past for him and return things to normal.

She placed her hand on a door knob for the second time that day, and her thoughts returned to Jo and Henry's behavior in the evidence room. They were acting like teenagers in love, and it was actually long overdue. Amnesia might have stolen Henry's memory from him, but it also cleared whatever had been keeping him from confessing his feelings for Jo—and cleared whatever had kept Jo from telling Henry her feelings from him. As soon as they would come back from their first date, she would be collecting some bets, and she was looking forward to it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Some notes about Henry's flashes of memory in this chapter:

Jo's scowl when Lucas laughs at Henry's pun in "6 A. M." is purely my invention.

The Mustang is Abe's car when he had attended Berkeley. Yes, Abe needed to pick his father up once during Henry and Abigail's stay in the city.

The sudden flash of buttons is from the day that Henry had unbuttoned all of the buttons on the cuffs of his father's coat in 1783. Two years later, the flashback in Chapter 3 occurs. I do have a reason for the two-year delay in Henry getting his first suit, and it plays a role in the rest of the story.

As for the map itself, there is no such map. It's based on similar maps made by John Hill in 1782 and John Montresor in 1775.


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note** : Happy New Year! I wanted to kick the new year off with this chapter. I hope that you will enjoy it.

There are references to the Pilot, "Skinny Dipper", and "Diamonds Are Forever". There is also a major reference to "The Pugilist Break".

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

Jo slowly opened her eyes. An empty glass and a frozen food tray sitting on the coffee table greeted her sight. A fork reflected in the TV screen. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the sunshine streaming through the window.

How did she get here? She recalled Lt. Reece and Mike helping her into the house and encouraging her to eat. Apparently, she must have fallen asleep on the sofa after they had left yesterday afternoon.

Yet she didn't care. She was so relaxed that she didn't want to move a muscle. The only person who could get her off the sofa today was Henry, and that was if he called and asked her if she wanted to do something with him.

At the thought of Henry, her mind started to wake up a little. She was shocked when he had confessed that he loved her. One part of her mind ordered her to not respond until his amnesia healed. Yet, the words came out anyway, and it felt great to admit her feelings for him. If it weren't for her headache—or Lt. Reece's interruption later—they probably would have kissed for the first time as well.

The memory of the massage drifted back into her mind. He had _never_ touched her like that before. After her crash into the Mosholu Parkway emergency barrier, he had always held her hand, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, or hugged her as an expression of comfort, relief, or celebration. Yesterday, though, he had gently and reverently gathered her hair and swept his hands over her neck and shoulders. His caring, selfless motions had relaxed her so much that the only thing she could do was to close her eyes and enjoy what he was doing for her.

She could see Henry's point about the massage changing things between them. In the moments afterward, she sensed that it had brought their romantic feelings for each other much closer to the surface. She wasn't sure about Henry, but she had felt an openness and a freedom that she had experienced only once before.

Her euphoria slightly decreased at the memory of her past. Her vulnerability was the reason she generally didn't let men get too close to her. Sean had been the first man whom she had completely trusted with her feelings and her life. After their final argument and his death, she became guarded and refused to let any other man see her true self.

Yet, it was different with Henry. From the start, he saw straight through her defenses. Instead of judging her, he empathized with her and allowed her to share as much about herself as she wanted. As a result, she felt absolutely safe with him, and his compassion was one of the many reasons that she fell in love with him.

Her mind returned to the massage. At one point, she vaguely felt his fingers kneading the same place on her neck that Sean used to kiss when he had wanted to become more romantic. Did she moan when Henry touched that spot? If so, she was so deeply relaxed that she didn't remember it.

The lack of recall startled her, and she pushed herself up from the sofa's cushions. They had three days left before Henry would lose the rest of his memory permanently.

She started to get up, and her legs gave way under her. Crashing back into the sofa, she laughed. The rest of her body needed to wake up before she could move. She tried to stand up a second time, and, this time, her legs were much steadier.

As she cleaned up her dishes and walked them into the kitchen, she reviewed all of the possible ways of jogging his memory. Lt. Reece had a few good ideas. Since they had the day off, they could explore the city or do something that he would enjoy. Maybe the activity would jar something loose.

One idea came to mind. Jo bit her lower lip in thought. It could trigger a cascade of memories—if not every memory that he had. Even if it brought back only one memory, the idea could save his life someday.

She looked down and noticed that she was wearing the same clothes that she had on yesterday. She reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. As she dialed a number, she hoped that their day together would cause something good to happen.

* * *

Henry walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He smiled at another restful night's sleep. Last night, he had indulged in the memory of giving Jo a massage as he had laid down on his bed. To his surprise, the memory deeply relaxed him, and he quickly drifted off to sleep. When he had woken up this morning, he felt the same tranquility that he had experienced yesterday morning.

The canister leaning against the end table caught his eye. He sighed. He had no idea how Abe would respond to his possession of the Hodgkins map. Hopefully, the other man would believe him when he would tell him about Lt. Reece's instructions.

Then again, he still couldn't believe that Lt. Reece had allowed him to bring the map back to the shop yesterday. He was a medical examiner, and, as far as he knew, his testimony on other topics outside of his area of expertise wouldn't be admitted in court. Yet, she acted as though it was routine for him to take evidence outside of the precinct's walls. Why would she let him handle evidence that the CSU would typically analyze?

He picked up Abe's wristwatch from the end table and looked at the time. Over the past couple of days, he was rising earlier than he ever had been. Since he had some additional time today, perhaps he could ask Abe about his past before breakfast.

Henry left his bedroom and strolled into the kitchen. When he arrived at the bannister, he noticed Abe starting to pull a carton of eggs and a pack of sausage links out of the refrigerator. One quick glance at the island revealed that he had already used a bag of beans, a pack of brown sugar, and a bottle of vinegar for their beans.

Henry studied his roommate. The older man was the only family that he had known, and Henry hated that Abe was enduring through so much sorrow because of him. Perhaps he could find a way to ease Abe's mind, even if it were just for a moment.

"Can I help you with something?"

Abe startled and turned to him. He set the eggs and sausage onto the island. "Um. Yeah. Sure."

Henry walked over to Abe's location. "What do you want me to do?"

"Do you remember how to crack an egg?" Abe pulled a glass bowl out of a nearby cabinet and set it next to the carton.

The medical examiner thought back to the first meal that he had prepared. "I remembered how to turn on a stove, fix a salad and garlic bread, and reheat leftover lasagna last week. I should be able to help you with the eggs."

Henry opened the carton, took out an egg, and tapped it on the bowl several times. A second later, it cracked open, and the shell's contents fell into the bowl.

He wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. "Hmm…"

"What?"

He faced Abe. "Why did my culinary skills remain intact while I need a reminder for everything else?"

"Maybe you don't use them enough." Abe's smirk and teasing chuckle prevented any offense from forming.

Smiling at the joke, Henry glanced over his shoulder and peered into a pot on the stove. It held more beans than he had seen before. Was Abe expecting someone to join them for breakfast? Henry shrugged his shoulders, turned back to the island, and removed several more eggs from the carton.

As he put the item back into the refrigerator, he heard Abe clear his throat. "You seemed distracted at dinner last night. Was it because of a certain detective we both know?"

"Abe—." Henry stopped himself. He had no idea why, but he suddenly wanted to call his roommate "Abraham". At the same time, he briefly felt as though _he_ was the father in their relationship.

Henry closed the refrigerator door and quickly returned to his task. Abe was old enough to be his father, not the other way around. To believe or to act otherwise would imply—.

He stopped himself. Immortality was impossible. He shouldn't treat the legends that he had read online as though they had a factual basis.

Abe's comment echoed in his mind, and it reminded Henry of dinner. He _was_ distracted by his thoughts about Jo. He nodded as he cracked another egg. "Yes, I was thinking about her last night."

"Do you care to tell me what happened yesterday?"

There was only one thing that he could tell Abe. "She enjoyed the massage that I gave her."

"What?"

Henry smiled at the calming memory as he picked up the whisk and began to scramble the eggs. "She had a headache, and I thought that it would help. To both of our surprise, it did." He turned to Abe. "Thank you for teaching me how to give one."

"I'm glad I could help you two out." Abe grinned as though he sensed the rest of the story.

Henry discarded the egg shells into the nearby trash can. He found two pans, poured the eggs into one pan, and put the links into the other.

Abe leaned over as Henry set the pans on the stove and turned the burners on. "Not bad."

The phone rang. Abe stepped away from the stove and quickly walked into the living room. As Henry watched the food, he could hear Abe and the caller make some plans for the day.

Henry twisted to face the other man. "Who was that?"

"Fawn." Abe smiled. "She wants to meet me at the café near Forth and 14th later this morning."

Henry looked down at the stove. He wished that he could remember his parents teaching him how to cook—or anything about them. _Perhaps_ …

He turned toward his roommate. "What do you remember about my parents?"

Abe's mouth dropped open, and he began to stammer. He then inhaled to find his words. "It's, um, it's complicated. I, um, really didn't know them."

Henry's heart sank. He stared at the wall as he gathered his thoughts. Why did Abe hesitate at the question? Exactly what had brought them together?

"When did I move in here with you?"

Abe debated with himself as he joined Henry's side. "About 1994."

 _1994_. Henry stared at his companion. He was 15 years old at the time. Did the courts award Abe custody of him after his parents' deaths?

Henry thought back to what he had deduced about his life. For him to be educated at St. Paul's School and then Oxford, he would have remained in England until he had reached adulthood. Why was there an inconsistency between his deductions and Abe's statement?

Abe snapped his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. I've invited someone over for breakfast. They should be here at any minute."

Henry glanced at the eggs. The news about their guest needled and prodded something in his memory.

He looked over at Abe and suddenly realized the unspoken request. "The door."

He eased past the other man and around the island. As he climbed down the stairs and wove his way through the shop, he listed everyone whom they knew and attempted to guess who their guest was. Each person, however, had his or her reasons for not coming.

He peered through the door's glass. A woman stood on the other side. Her head faced the street, and he could see that her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

Henry reached for the handle. Instead of taking it, his hands found the lock and turned it before resting on their original destination. As he pulled the door open, the woman turned her head.

"Detective!" Henry smiled at both her presence and her radiant and relaxed appearance this morning.

The air's slight chill on his exposed arms and legs prevented a reverie. He swung the door wider and stepped aside to let her enter the building. "Would you come in?"

She stepped through the entry and started toward the stairs. He instinctively turned the lock and checked the sign. Once satisfied with their privacy and security, he walked toward her.

 _How do I know that?_ He shook his head. Whatever had prompted his move into the shop didn't matter. Apparently, he had been in the habit of ensuring that the door was locked since his arrival.

When he joined Jo—.

He looked at her. Sometime today, he needed to ask her about her first name—if Abe didn't mention it at breakfast.

"How was your night last night?"

She happily inhaled. "I had the best night's sleep in quite a while." She grinned as she ran her hand behind her ear.

He smiled at her pleasure.

They entered the stairwell, and he fell back to let her go up first. As she began her ascent, she looked over her shoulder. "I think that I have a way to jog your memory."

His eyes widened in excitement. Was there a cure for his amnesia?

He inhaled at the familiar feeling. He had wanted a cure for something else in the past.

He pushed his thoughts aside. His memory issues were present now. Once they were resolved, he could focus on any previous conditions. In the meantime, he wanted to enjoy his meal and whatever activity that she proposed.

"What do you propose?"

"I was thinking about swimming."

He slowed his climb and swallowed. She knew that he had a fear of the water.

He studied her. She was so confident that the activity would help him. It was worth a try. Even if it didn't bring anything back, at least he could begin to conquer his fear so he could learn how to swim.

They stepped onto the landing. Jo strolled over to a chair and started to remove her coat. He quickly joined her and held the garment. The removal of her arms and her grateful smile stirred and then intensified his impulses. He longed to act on them, but the weight of the coat reminded him of his task. He stepped into the living room and hung her garment next to his.

He looked down at his night clothes and then peered into the kitchen. Abe turned the stove off, and he would begin to plate their food soon. "I should change first."

"Your swim trunks should be in your room."

He nodded his thanks and hurried to his bedroom. The second that he opened his underwear drawer, he spied a red pair of underwear in the sea of blue ones. Curious, he pulled it out. The fabric felt slicker than his other boxer shorts, and the cut of the legs was slightly higher. As he unfolded it, he could almost see someone hand him the article of clothing.

Remembering the time, he quickly exchanged shorts and pulled on a clean t-shirt. He had no idea what the day would bring, but he hoped that it was something good.

* * *

As Jo drove under the building and wove her way through the parking area, Henry let out a sigh of relief. Throughout their drive, he observed the buildings as they passed. Surprisingly, the skyline, the modes of transportation, and even the pedestrians' clothes changed before his eyes. When he blinked, the scenery was instantly restored to what it was a few seconds earlier.

He leaned back in his seat. New Yorkers no longer used horses and carts for transportation. The practice had ended after the introduction of the automobile and laws which prohibited the antiquated mode within the city limits. So, why did he suddenly see it? Was he hallucinating?

"Are you nervous?"

Jo's voice attracted his attention. He turned to her and realized what she meant. "Yes."

She took his hand into hers. "I won't let you drown."

He nodded as she squeezed it. He felt somewhat calmer.

"Come on. The pool should be open by now."

After he removed two duffle bags from the trunk, they headed for the Plaza Nouveau's lobby. As Jo found a concierge and spoke with him, Henry looked around the atrium. In some ways, the wide, well-lit space, the columns, and gray carpet reminded him of Bellevue's lobby. This vestibule, however, looked more inviting with a fountain in the middle of the room and sofas and chairs peppered throughout the area.

He looked out the glass doors and to his right. In the distance, he briefly saw two gray buildings where a glass one now stood.

He shook his head. He must be hallucinating.

"Are you ready?"

He looked at Jo as she joined him. He should tell her, and later Abe, about the hallucinations so that they could seek medical treatment for him. Just as he opened his mouth, her smile halted his thoughts and enchanted him.

He inhaled to calm his racing heart. "Honestly, no. It's not that I don't trust you; I do. It's just—." A couple of hotel guests walking near them reminded him of their lack of privacy.

She wrapped her hand around one arm and guided him to the nearby elevators. The strangely familiar gesture soothed his growing tension. At the same time, it sent a wave of pleasure through him.

She pressed the up button on the control panel. A moment later, the elevator doors opened, and they stepped into the car. One of the duffle bags began to slip off his shoulder, and he readjusted the handle's position.

"What are you afraid of?" Her voice was soft and caring.

Henry waited for more passengers, but, gratefully, no one took advantage of the elevator. As the doors closed, he inhaled. His thoughts turned to his namesake's tombstone.

He looked her in the eye. "I'm afraid of death. Of leaving everyone I care about behind. Of being unable to correct my mistakes. Of not fulfilling my purpose in life."

He took another deep breath as she lowered her eyes. He had spoken from the depths of his soul. What was she thinking?

She finally lifted her eyes. "Every time I confront a suspect, I worry about that too."

His eyes widened. He had believed that he was the only person who had felt that way.

The doors opened, and a directional sign on a wall greeted them. The words "indoor swimming pool" caused Henry's heart to race. He swallowed. If Jo suppressed her fear of death while doing her job, then he should be able to control his long enough to see if her plan would work.

She nudged him, and they started to walk down the corridor. To his right, he noticed the skyline. Once again, buildings vanished and then reappeared with each step. He decided to focus on their destination in order to keep the hallucinations at bay.

Finally, he spied their destination. Jo wove her way around the tables until she reached one that sat close to the pool. Sensing that she preferred the location, Henry slid the bags off his shoulders and set them down on the table. To prevent another panic attack, he kept one eye on her as he carefully removed his shoes and put them on a chair. Within moments, his jacket, dress shirt, and pants joined his shoes.

He started to remove his t-shirt. As he took the neck, the image of his scar flashed in front of him. He didn't know how to explain it to Jo or to anyone else who would see it. With that thought in mind, he quickly released his grip on his shirt.

He turned toward Jo, and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. Her black one-piece swimsuit was very modest, yet it flattered her figure quite marvelously.

She turned to him, and their eyes met. His cheeks warmed from his delight. "I'm sorry. I was distracted."

"Uh, huh."

He watched her step over to the pool. As she climbed down the stairs, he looked at the deep end. His heart started to pound in his chest, and he swallowed. There was no way that he could do this.

A splash attracted his attention. Jo gracefully turned around in the water and stood near the railing. She clearly wanted him to join her.

He gazed into her eyes. All of his resistance to the idea instantly vanished. He submissively followed her path into the pool.

The second his foot entered the water, its warmth drew his focus away from Jo. He felt a panic begin to rise in him. Reminding himself that she dealt with the same fears that he had, he inhaled and started down the stairs.

When he reached her, she gently took his hands into hers and began to slowly back away from the railing. Although she gradually led him deeper into the water, he could still feel the bottom of the pool under his feet. Her guidance was causing the fear to abate, but he was still concerned about suddenly drowning without her realizing it.

She caught his eye. "We don't have to do any more than you want to."

Feeling free to voice his concerns, he started to relax. He beheld her face, and he saw her pleasure at his progress.

A few moments later, he took a step, and he could no longer feel the pool's bottom. He froze in terror. "I can't do this."

Jo stopped and came beside him. As she moved toward the shallower end, the panic subsided. He gave her a grateful smile, which she returned.

After a while, he felt comfortable enough in the water to walk around on his own. He stopped and tugged on her hands. She knitted her eyebrows together, but once she had processed his unspoken request, she released them.

The smile in her eyes expressed her pleasure. "Considering you've had a paralyzing fear of the water, you're doing well."

He grinned at her contribution to his success as they resumed walking. "I believe that knowing that I'm not alone in my fear had helped."

He looked around the area. They were the only ones taking advantage of the hotel's amenity. If any impulses were to arise, he would be free to express them—reasonably speaking.

He joyfully watched Jo as she left his side and glided in the water. Her love of the activity was obvious. Hopefully, one day, he would join her in it.

He paused and rubbed his tongue over his lower lip. Since the morning's start, he had been calling Detective Martinez "Jo" constantly in his thoughts. He was surprised that he had kept himself from uttering the name at breakfast, and he was slightly disappointed that Abe only called her "kiddo" during their conversation. He loved her, but he would never forgive himself if he hurt her by using the wrong name.

She stopped her frolic. Straightening her posture, she looked at him. "What's wrong?"

He stepped up to her and instinctively placed his hands around her waist. The instant that he started to hold her, he felt a thrill of pleasure rising up in him. She glanced down at his hands and then looked back up at him. Her surprise gave way to a smile.

He inhaled. He needed to do this now. "For the past few days, I've wanted to call you 'Jo'."

Her jaw dropped open, and his heart sank. He must had been mistaken.

Suddenly, she threw her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. After a moment, she pulled herself away from him and, with a growing grin, enthusiastically grasped his arms. "Since when?!"

 _What? I was right?_ "Friday night."

He didn't want her to get the wrong idea. "I'm afraid that it's a deduction though. Ever since Abe's call to you after I woke up, the name sounded familiar. Abe had mentioned it a couple of times afterward, but he was the only person who had addressed you by your first name. During our ride to WNYL's studios, I momentarily thought that it was your name as both you and Abe had stated that you were unable to come to the hospital to visit me. I didn't made the actual connection between you and your name until the other night."

She grew somber and glanced down into the pool for a moment. When her eyes returned to his face, they searched his eyes. "Exactly how did it come to you?"

He wrinkled his eyebrows in thought. "I don't know. The last things that I clearly remember are feeling drowsy while everyone discussed Titus' death and telling Abe in the hallway that 'I must apologize to Jo for falling asleep in front of her when I returned to work'. I don't recall anything after that until I woke up in bed the next morning."

She softly laughed.

"It's…"

"Sssh, sssh, sssh."

His thoughts obeyed her.

"It's great." Still smiling, she embraced him again.

Why was she certain that it was a memory? He recalled that moment. He was thinking of nothing at the time. Perhaps he had subconsciously known that Detective Martinez and Jo were the same person, and her actions Friday night had caused it to rise to the surface.

He wished that he could remember something personal about her and about their time together: a frightening moment during a case, a dinner together after work— _anything_.

 _ **Abe's Antiques, New York City, October 19, 2014**_

 _Jo pulled to a stop just past the intersection where the antiques shop sat. The sounds of laughter and jubilant conversations during the Golrick Youth Center's party echoed in Henry's head. Tommy Delgros' arrest on solely bribery charges had been a bitter disappointment. Nevertheless, the celebration of the youth center's ability to remain open and the future dedication of the neighborhood's new playground in Raul Lopez's name felt like a nearly perfect end to their investigation. Perhaps in law enforcement, as in medicine, circumstances necessitated a less favorable solution than what was desirable for the victims._

" _Thanks for the lift." As he unbuckled his seatbelt, the smell of various dishes drifted into the car._

 _Jo inhaled. "That smell."_

" _Mm. Sunday in New York…red sauce, jerk chicken, and matzo ball all in the same block." He shook his head and briefly closed his eyes as he smelled the delightful mingling of the aromas that had filled his nose every Sunday evening since his arrival in the neighborhood twenty years before._

" _Mm-hmm." Her tone of voice indicated that she had found the aromas appetizing as well._

 _He started to open the door when he suddenly hesitated. Today marked the first occasion in which they had spent a considerable amount of time together outside of work since their conversation over drinks weeks before. As they had talked to the area's residents and had sampled some of the party's food, he had unexpectedly found her company to be just as enjoyable as it was when they were focused on their cases. Admittedly, he wasn't ready for their time together to come to an end just yet._

 _He bit his lower lip in thought. It was uncharacteristic of him, but the forming idea would provide them with the opportunity to become better acquainted with each other._

 _He turned around and faced Jo. "Why don't you come up for dinner?"_

 _Her mouth dropped open at the rash invitation. "Um…"_

 _He threw his hand up and lifted a finger to silence any objection about her inconveniencing them. "I insist."_

 _She closed her mouth and pondered his request. After a moment, she smiled. "Let me legally park first. The last thing that I need is one of the unis giving me a ticket while I'm upstairs."_

" _I'll tell Abe that you will be joining us."_

 _He opened the door and climbed out of the car. After watching Jo drive off to park, he excitedly jogged up to the intersection and pushed the button for the crosswalk's signal. The light on the other side quickly indicated that it was safe to cross, and he strolled across the street and let himself into the building. Once inside, he darted through the retail area and up the stairs._

" _Abe!"_

 _Henry turned the corner and faced the kitchen. He could see Abe setting two more ingredients on the island and beginning to measure one that sat near him._

 _Abe looked up from his work. "What's going on?"_

 _Henry threw his hands into the air. "I know that this is at the last minute, but I've invited someone to join us for dinner."_

 _Abe set down the spoon and braced himself on the island. "Who?"_

" _Jo."_

 _Abe narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure? What about—?"_

" _We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Jo was curious about his personal life, but she had been limiting herself primarily to questions that had originated from his actions during a case. The couple of times in which he had answered a question about his past, he had been unable to fully control his response as he spoke. As he studied her reaction, he hated himself for not telling her the truth._

 _He halted his thoughts. It had been quite a while since he had invited someone over for dinner, and he had every intention of enjoying Jo's company while she was here._

 _Abe stared at him. "Who are you, and what have you done with Henry Morgan?"_

 _Henry tilted his head and sighed. "Abe."_

 _The other man smiled. "It's good to see you take another step into the land of the living." He took another glance at the food. "I need to get some more tomatoes out of the refrigerator."_

 _As Abe returned to the appliance, Henry smiled. Abe seemed pleased with their dinner guest._

 _Jo should be here at any moment. He glanced down at his suit. Maybe he should remove his coat before she arrived._

 _ **Plaza Nouveau, New York City, Present-Day**_

"Henry? What is it?"

The scene suddenly faded, and he regained his focus. As her eyes searched his face, she looked as though she did not dare to breathe.

He couldn't deny her this. "You drove me back to the shop after we closed a case—the murder of a Raul Lopez? I started to leave the car when I suddenly decided to invite you to join Abe and me for dinner. I went upstairs and mentioned it to Abe." Questions about his unwillingness to tell Jo the truth about himself began to form, but he rapidly pushed them out of his mind to see if the rest of the memory would return.

More details about the day in question promptly flowed. "We talked until dinner, and we ate on the rooftop. Abe offered you dessert, but you indicated in both English and Spanish that you were full. He then surprised me with a doctor's bag that he had mistakenly sold to a podiatrist living on Long Island and complained about how much he had paid for it.

He wrinkled his eyebrows as the memory continued. "Then, you asked Abe and me how we knew each other. I told you that Abe and my father were business partners and that Abe was like family to me. We toasted to family before changing topics. After dessert and some additional conversation, I escorted you to your car?"

She gasped. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, and, this time, tears began to freely fall on his t-shirt.

He stood in surprise. Then, he recognized what had happened. He chuckled as he let go of her waist and embraced her. Smiling, he closed his eyes and held her. He had spontaneously remembered a good memory from their shared past.

He held her until her tears slowed to a stop. She pulled back and looked at him. A lingering tear glistened on her cheek. He wordlessly unwrapped one arm and impulsively reached up to her cheek. As he touched it with his fingers, a small thrill surged in him. To release it and to show his pleasure at her simple joy, he wiped away the tear.

He looked into her eyes again. He barely felt his hands drop back to her waist as he enjoyed the moment.

"Aunt Jo! Uncle Henry!" A young boy's informal address jarred Henry out of his state. He turned and noticed two slightly familiar boys standing near the edge of the pool. "What are you doing here?"

The shorter of the two squatted down in excitement. "Did you come here so that you can kiss without Uncle Abe around?"

Surprised by the comment and their knowledge of him, Jo, and Abe, Henry looked over at Jo. She gaped at the question.

"Boys!" As Henry recognized that the new voice belonged to Karen, he immediately realized that the boys were the Hansons' sons. Their familiarity meant that Jo and, apparently, he and Abe were friends of the family.

The pair twisted to see their mother. "Yeah?"

"Go back to the room. We'll be up in a few minutes."

"Alright!" They raced back toward the hallway.

Karen stepped up to the pool's edge. She covered her mouth. "Henry! I'm so sorry about your amnesia. I overheard Mike talking to Jo about it early this morning. I knew that you were in the hospital, but I had no idea about your memory issues."

 _Mike_. He should have known from Jo's mention of it that it was Hanson's first name.

He studied the surprised and concerned history professor. He briefly glanced into the water to hide his embarrassment about the length of time that he had concealed his memory loss from everyone he cared about. "It's been difficult to talk about it."

She nodded. "Why don't you two come on up? The boys are expecting you."

He didn't want to disappoint the children, but he was also eager to learn what else Jo had planned for the day. He looked at her. Her expression conveyed the same idea that he had.

Jo looked at Karen. "Sure. Why not?"

"Great! We're in room 821."

He reluctantly let go of Jo's waist as Karen walked off. As they made their way to the railing, Jo leaned toward him. "The taller boy is Donnie, and the shorter one is Matt."

He nodded as he memorized their names. Jo's assistance prompted a more recent memory. "What is Mr. Wahl's first name? He's disappointed that I don't know it."

"It's Lucas."

 _Lucas_. Like Jo's name, the only person who had mentioned it was Abe. Like Hanson's—Mike's—name, he should have noticed it on the paperwork, but Lucas' handwriting had rendered his name illegible.

Henry fell back to let Jo pass him on the stairs. Logically, he should have been upset about the number of people who had helped her plan this. Yet, he wasn't. Their idea had worked better than he had expected. His first full memory and a couple of familiar sensations weren't much, but they were additional pieces of the puzzle which was his life. Hopefully, they would spark another memory.

Questions about what he saw in his full memory and the inconsistency between his birth date and his age at the time of the memory crossed his mind. Henry suppressed them for the time being. He would deal with them later. Right now, he was happy to know everyone's names and to be able to remember more about his past.

As Jo ascended the stairs like Venus rising from the sea, he felt a corner of his lips lift up again. Holding her was quite pleasurable for the both of them, and he would do it again if presented with the opportunity. He wouldn't have known _that_ either if she didn't bring him to the pool so that he could face one of his fears.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** If you wondered why Henry never noticed Lucas' name on the paperwork, I hope I just clarified it for you.

In the flashback, Henry's thoughts and everything that is not a part of "The Pugilist Break" are entirely my own creation.

A special thanks goes out to ForeveristCloisJenry, KenH, superlc529, and foreverHenry919. You have repeatedly mentioned in your reviews that either Henry should ask everyone their first names or someone should mention them to him. I had originally planned to have Henry spontaneously call Jo and Lucas by their first names. Your ideas fit the story better, so I included them in the story.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note** : There are general references to every episode.

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

Jo beamed as she and Henry stepped onto the eighth floor and turned toward Mike and Karen's room. Henry's memory of their and Abe's first dinner together had amazingly prompted a couple of more memories to return. While they had walked to the elevator, she learned that he remembered finding and identifying Raul Lopez's body and the party at the youth center. To her surprise, although he didn't remember it, he also had known that they had gone out for drinks a few weeks before.

At the same time, she was overjoyed to hear Henry call her by her first name. Since his revelation about his memory loss earlier in the week, she had begun to wonder if she would ever hear him use it again. She had no idea what she had done the other night, but whatever it was had pushed her name into his conscious.

She looked over at him as she recalled his response to her warm milk. "I've never thanked you for the coffee or the massage yesterday."

He turned his head. "It was the least that I could do for you. I take it that you've found the note that I had left on your desk."

"It's on my end table next to my bed." She had found it and the coffee cup sleeve in her pocket when she had changed clothes. Now, she had to figure out how to keep them for the rest of her life.

He nodded and then, smiling, pulled her closer to him. His hand on her waist sent another wave of the same incredible pleasure that she had experienced moments earlier over her.

 _Martinez! Don't even think about that moment in the pool around the boys—or Mike!_ She chuckled. If Mike found out about the gesture, Henry's and her relationship status would be all over the precinct by morning. If Lucas overheard someone mention it, the entire OCME would know about it as well.

The numbers on the opposite wall indicated that they were getting closer to the room. From their location, Jo noticed Mike stepping out into the hallway. He raised one eyebrow and then gaped as they approached. At that moment, she didn't care if her official partner told everyone about her and Henry.

Mike closed his mouth. "Since when?!"

"Mike." Henry glanced toward the floor as he moved closer to his friend. "How's your ankle?"

Jo rolled her eyes up and slightly shook her head in happiness. _Always a doctor_.

"It's doing much better since Karen has been putting ice on it. I—." Mike knitted his eyebrows together and then pointed a finger at Henry. "You just called me 'Mike'."

"I know that I've been addressing you as 'Hanson', but, as both Jo and Karen had referred to you as by that name in conversation—."

"'Jo'?" Mike raised a hand as his eyes darted from Henry to her. "Did you tell him your name?"

Jo gleefully shook her head.

He then inhaled in mock offense. "Of course you would remember _her_ name before you would know _mine_!" Grinning, he slapped one hand on Henry's shoulder and squeezed it in congratulations. "If I were a hugging man, I would hug you now. That's great!"

Henry shifted his weight. "Do you mind if I used your bathroom to change? I would like to get out of these wet clothes before your sons see me."

"Sure. It's just inside the door." As Henry slowly removed his arm from around her and eased into the hotel room, Mike studied them. The second the bathroom door clicked, he looked her in the eye. "I'm trying to decide what to ask you first."

"To answer your first question, yesterday." He dropped his jaw as he figured out the timing. "As for my name, something jogged his memory of it the other night, but he asked me about it while we were in the pool."

Mike looked expectantly at her. He lowered his voice. "So, did it work?"

She nodded. "He remembers several things about the Raul Lopez case and some time that we had spent together afterward." As her partner's eyes widened, she realized that it was the first time that she had mentioned what had happened after work. "Plus, he's no longer terrified of being in chest-high water."

Donnie and Matt's eager conversation drifted toward the hallway. "Do they know?"

He inhaled. "Gratefully, no. We've been keeping it from them. Thanks to Karen, they think that he's been sick with some kind of bug." He sighed. "I need to apologize to Doc about her finding out about his memory issues."

The door suddenly swung open, and Henry, dressed in his blue dress shirt and black pants, stepped out of the room. He pulled the door close and quickly joined Jo's side. Her heart began to flutter as he once again wrapped his arm around her. When he rested his hand on her waist, she briefly closed her eyes to keep herself focused on their surroundings.

"There's no need for forgiveness. With the close nature of your relationship, it was inevitable." Seeing Mike's narrowed eyes, Henry continued. "I overheard your conversation while I changed." He pointed a finger to a spot just behind Mike. "This door isn't the original door. When the hotel was built in the 1900s, the interior was constructed from heavier materials which rendered the rooms nearly soundproof. Cade Addison bought the Plaza Nouveau in the 1970s and began renovations, which included dividing the rooms into smaller ones and replacing the older doors with ones like this. As a result, any sounds in the hallway or in a neighboring room can be heard in the room."

Jo and Mike exchanged looks. Were Henry's comments a pair of faint memories of something that he had read about in the newspaper or of a couple of stays in this very hotel?

She looked back at Henry. Her heart broke as his facial features changed from confident to confused. Uncertain as to what to tell him, she tightened her fingers around his waist. Her eyes widened in pleasant surprise when he gave her a small smile and pulled her closer to him.

Just then, her sarong and still damp swimsuit chafed her skin. Reluctant to leave Henry's side, she looked at him and then at Mike. "I need to change."

Mike opened the door, held it for them, and motioned for them to enter the room. As they passed, he grinned. "Right this way, you two lovebirds."

Henry uneagerly let her go and followed Mike into the room. Jo found her duffle bag and took it into the bathroom with her. As she began to change, she could hear Donnie and Matt excitedly tell Henry what had happened since the last time that they had seen him. She imagined him paying close attention to them as he searched for a memory of the pair.

"Uncle Henry?" Donnie's voice attracted her attention. "Have you ever been to the World Trade Center?"

"I don't believe I have. Why did you ask?"

Jo fished her hair brush out of her bag. Henry was telling the truth about the new building. As for the Twin Towers, she would have to ask him if he had ever taken Abigail to the restaurant there once his memory returned.

"Our class went on a field trip to the observation deck." Donnie's voice suddenly became more excited. "On the way up, they had the coolest video of what New York looked like years ago." She heard hurried footsteps stop near her and a couple of bumps on the wall. "Someone posted it on YouTube. Let me show you."

She started to scream "no", but she bit her tongue. It would be hard to explain why the boys' "uncle" didn't watch online videos. She hastily ran her brush through her hair and threw it and her ponytail holder into her bag. Determined to keep Donnie from dragging Henry kicking and screaming into the 21st century, she quickly stepped out of the bathroom and dropped her bag next to Henry's.

Once she entered the room, her mouth opened when she noticed Henry leaning over Donnie's shoulder and looking at the family laptop. Henry usually shunned technology, not embraced it. Then again, he had adopted almost everything in use during the 1950s and most of the equipment at work, and he knew how to use a cell phone as a phone. It was just a matter of time before Henry accepted computers as a part of his life as well. Hoping that she didn't disturb them, she stole toward them and positioned herself on the other side of the eldest Hanson son.

She kept an eye on Henry as he watched the minute-long video. Under his well-schooled expression, she could see confusion in his eyes. Was he searching for something familiar? Or was he remembering something that was far back in his past?

He pointed at the screen. "Can you play it again, this time more slowly?"

Donnie turned to him. "Yeah. Why?"

"I thought that I saw something interesting." His remark satisfied Donnie, but Henry didn't seemed convinced.

At the twenty-five second mark, Henry pointed at the screen again. "Stop!"

Donnie paused the video. Jo inhaled once she noticed the year 1889 in the top center panel of the elevator. That was when Henry had first come to New York.

Henry turned to the boy. "Can you play it very slowly?"

"Like this?" Donnie put the arrow on the playhead and gradually slid it across the screen.

"Yes, like that. Can you take it from where you stopped it?"

As Donnie did as Henry requested, Jo studied the screen in wonder. Ever since Henry had told her about himself, she had wished that she could see New York the way that he had long ago. She had always assumed that it would involve time travel, yet, through computer-generated images, she was getting her chance.

She felt someone lean against her. She looked down and saw that Matt had joined them. _Anything that Donnie did_ …

The youngest Hanson turned to his mother. "How do they know what New York looked like? They didn't have drones or cameras back then."

 _Good question_.

Karen walked over to them. "We know it from the descriptions of the people who had lived in the area, from paintings and sketches in newspapers, and from maps which the British and American armies had drawn during the American Revolution. Back in the 1800s and early 1900s, several mapmakers created panoramic maps. They would find a spot some distance from the city and draw what they had seen. And, yes, they did have cameras and aerial photography before Aunt Jo, Uncle Henry, and your mom and dad were born."

 _Not when Henry was born_. She looked over at her—she wished she knew what to call him since she didn't want to use "boyfriend" just yet. A panic was very evident in his eyes, and he was fighting to control it.

Henry quickly restrained himself. "How do you know that?"

"Sandra Cartwright over in geography."

He nodded, and Jo could see him making a mental note. "Would she know anything about John Hodgkins' maps?"

Karen knitted her eyebrows together. "I don't know. You could ask her tomorrow."

"Hey!" Mike interjected just as Jo opened her mouth to ask them what they were talking about. "It's our day off. We're not supposed to be talking about work."

Mike was right. She was under orders to rest, and she had every intention to obey that command. Besides, she was in no mood to pay attention to work. With Henry's romantic gesture, she had to will herself to focus on her task, even if it was _walking_ , every time that he touched her.

She turned and observed Henry slipping away from everyone. Her heart ached as he opened the glass door leading to the balcony. Whatever he had seen had obviously upset him. She wished that she knew what it was.

* * *

Jo stepped onto the balcony and eased the door shut. Inside, Mike, Karen, and the boys happily talked about their plans for the afternoon. She smiled. No one had noticed that she wasn't there.

She somberly turned back to Henry. To everyone else, he looked as though he was enjoying the view. She, however, knew that he needed to talk now. Hopefully, he would tell her what was bothering him.

She closed the distance between them and placed her right hand on his back to let him know that she was there. As she moved to his side, she laid her other hand on his crossed forearm. He looked down and then at her. When their eyes met, he gave her a small but unconvincing smile.

"Hey." She lowered her voice. "What is it?"

He inhaled, and she saw the same nervous look that he had when he had told her about his immortality. "I think I'm hallucinating."

"What?"

He swallowed. "Ever since we had left the shop, I have been seeing things that I shouldn't be seeing. For brief moments, I've seen men wearing caps and overalls or hats and three-piece suits, women in loose-fitting dresses, and children in clothes that were smaller versions of the adults'." He tittered. "I've seen horses and carts in the streets. I've even seen buildings vanish and then reappear _exactly_ the same way that the ones in the video had."

He took a deep breath. "Strangely, these 'visions', for lack of a better word, are so real. It's almost as though I was alive during those years, but that's impossible." He glanced down for a moment. "I nearly asked you to take me to the hospital so the neurologist could re-examine me."

As she fought back her forming tears, she turned her attention to the city. She wished that she could tell him that he had actually seen New York grow up to be what he would later call "the most exciting city in the world". Abe had cautioned them against telling Henry about his past, but they couldn't keep everything from him.

"Maybe you _are_ remembering things." Before he could protest, she nodded toward the new World Trade Center tower. "That wasn't there throughout your life here."

"Two buildings stood there and then—." He wrinkled his eyebrows in frustration. "What happened to them?"

She swallowed. That period of his life was emotionally difficult as his empathy for the families of the deceased and the reminders of his own losses had threatened to overwhelm him. "9/11."

Suddenly, she saw the familiar distant expression that he always wore when his mind was in another time. "I dug a considerable number of graves for the victims. A few of the families were unable to bury their loved ones' remains, so they buried personal belongings instead. It was during that time that I had decided to become a medical examiner."

Her eyes widened in surprise. She wasn't expecting that to come back.

She studied his face. Instead of being excited, he looked even more confused. Although she didn't know for certain, she swore that one victim's grandfather's recognition of him from World War II had returned as well.

His eyes searched her face. "What have I told you about my past?"

She inhaled. Something told her that Abe had already violated his own order this morning. "Why did you ask?"

"I was curious."

She looked at the skyline as she chose her words. "From what you have told me, you've had a rough start, and it had created some issues for you. Your issues had prompted you to change jobs and to move frequently, and they had affected your relationships."

"Such as the one with my late wife?" He gave her a small smile. "That was a deduction from a photo and an urn that I had seen on the mantle at the shop."

She nodded. "Definitely with her." She watched a worried expression crossed his face. "You almost dumped her twice in the beginning of your relationship. She, however, had already stolen your heart before you had tried to dump her the first time. Your life with her gave you a sense of normalcy, and you were devastated when you lost her." Jo hoped that he wouldn't ask her what had happened; she wasn't sure how to explain Abigail's disappearance and death.

Knowing he needed the rest of the story, she inhaled. "When we met, Mike, Lucas, Lt. Reece, and I didn't know about your issues because you hid them from us. They created some conflict, and, at one point, they almost caused me to end our partnership. Eventually, you decided to tell us what you've been through, and everything made sense." She chuckled. "Of course, your story was a bit of a shock, but we knew it was true. At the same time, we realized that your life has given you a unique perspective and that it gave you some adorable quirks as well."

"'Adorable'? I believe that would be _your_ assessment of my traits." They chuckled. He studied her hand on his arm and pondered her statement. "What about swimming?"

She smiled at her ability to tell him the truth. "You've been swimming your entire life. Any more time in the water, and you would be a fish." The comparison drew a hearty laugh from him. "You've stopped swimming for fun for a while, but you've started again a few years ago."

"So, my fear of the water is a recent development?"

"Very recent. I'm sure that it hadn't caused your amnesia, but your memory loss has a lot to do with it."

He nodded and considered her words.

A cool breeze blew on them, and she instantly started to shiver. Seeing her sudden chill, he lifted his left arm around her. As he drew her close to him, she was rendered speechless and unable to think. She smiled and allowed herself to delight in his warm embrace.

After a while, Henry glanced at her. "What else have you planned for the day?"

His words broke the spell over her. She bit her lower lip in thought. She had only thought about swimming. Admittedly, she wasn't sure what would come back to him, and she wanted him to take his time processing everything if he remembered something painful. Since he hadn't….

"Actually, nothing." She immediately hated the idea of dropping him off at the shop and heading straight home. She was enjoying their time together on the balcony.

He sighed. "It would be a shame to return to our residences after this."

She looked over at him and almost lost herself in his brown eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"Would you like for us to spend the rest of the day together?" He briefly threw his free hand up and pointed in the air. "The initial purpose of this outing was to jog my memory, and, for that reason, I wouldn't consider our further activities to be a date. I would prefer do something far more romantic for you during one."

He found her free hand and took it in his. She nearly lost all coherent thought as he lightly traced and re-traced the back of it with his thumb. "Still, I'm not ready for our day to end, and I was wondering if you were of the same mind. If you want to return to your home to relax, I would understand."

 _Of the same mind? Is he kidding me?_ "Henry Morgan, I would love to spend the rest of the day with you. What do you want to do?"

He chuckled. "I intended to ask you the same question." He looked toward the room. "Perhaps we can get some ideas from them."

She grinned as Henry nudged her away from the railing. "That sounds like a plan to me. Donnie seemed excited about going to the observation deck."

"You appeared interested in the video. Do you want to go there?"

She hadn't considered it. "Yeah, I would."

He released her long enough to open the door. Once inside, they walked toward the bed where Mike, Karen, and the boys were standing.

Mike turned to them. "Glad you two finally decided to join us. Listen, we've decided to eat at the Greek restaurant across the street. Do you want to come?"

Jo looked expectantly at Henry. It would give her some time with the boys, and she already knew what she wanted to order.

He gazed into her eyes and then turned back to Mike. "We would love to."

"Great! You can leave your bags here until we get back." Mike led them to the door and ducked into the closet for his jacket. Jo and Henry searched their bags for their coats. As he pulled out his coat, he glanced down at the bags.

He leaned over and whispered, "I appreciate your efforts to rescue me, but why?"

"How do you—?"

"Given that your cell phone is in a pocket, you would have been more careful in setting the bag down to prevent shattering the screen. Yet, your hairbrush's and ponytail holder's position indicate otherwise. The force of the drop had sent them simultaneously hurtling into the air and along the line of travel. When they had come to rest, they fell between your clothes and the furthest-most wall of your bag. As for your motivation, you had joined us at the desk shortly before Donnie had started the video."

She rolled her eyes up and slightly shook her head as she found her coat and stood. _Typical Henry_.

He was waiting for her answer. "You're a bit old-fashioned, and I want to keep you that way until _you_ are ready to change."

He became lost in thought as he took her coat and held it for her. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, he leaned over, and his breath tickled her ear. "You like gyros, and I detest them."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't told him that.

He gleefully continued. "I won't protest when you order it this time."

As they left the room, she smiled. With the exception of one brief moment, she was enjoying their day so far. She wondered what else would happen.

* * *

Abe looked around the half-filled café. After telling the waiter that he was trying to find his friend, he finally spotted her: Fawn Mahoney-Ames. She had been through puberty, motherhood, and aging, and she was _still_ a tomato.

He sauntered up to her and took a seat at the table for two in the corner. "I remember when I had first asked you out for coffee."

She smiled, causing his healthy heart to beat faster. "I reminded you of what had happened over milkshakes."

Their first kiss was incredible, and the thought of it over 60 years later caused those same feelings to rise up in him. Dad had sharply protested about Abe's romantic intentions toward her when they had seen her at Lyle's funeral. Yet, over the past few years, the older Morgan had shown that he was much less opposed to Abe's more friendly relationship with her. Maybe Dad had unwittingly made a subtle point back then. Maybe she had needed to mourn Lyle's death first before she could move on.

Abe's heart slightly dropped at the thought of his father. He had spent the last day agonizing over what to tell his father about his past since they now had a need to reveal it to him. When the immortal asked him about his parents before breakfast, Abe tried to answer the questions without revealing anything unusual. The look on Dad's face, however, told him that his explanation had generated only more questions. Gratefully, Jo's arrival had distracted Dad from his thoughts.

Fawn's giggle startled Abe out of his thoughts. "I've never seen you so deep in thought before."

"I do that sometimes." He grinned at her. "Why did you ask me to come here?"

She pulled a photograph out of her purse. "I was looking through my family photo albums yesterday, and I found this." She extended it to him.

He took the sepia-toned picture of Fawn, her parents, and her sister and swallowed. In the distance, he could see himself and his own parents on the grass, and Dad was facing the camera. He inhaled as the memory of that late spring Saturday afternoon flooded back.

Abe's hand trembled as he nervously looked over the photo and saw Fawn leaning over the table. She whispered, "I'm sure your roommate Henry is your father."

Abe silently handed the photograph back to her. She looked at him, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. _What is she thinking?_

He took a deep breath. He needed to determine exactly what and how much she had seen that day. He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "I can't talk here. Is it alright if we take this conversation out to the park across the street?"

Still concerned about him, she nodded and slipped the portrait back into her purse. Abe quickly paid for Fawn's food.

As they wove their way through the café and toward Union Square Park, Abe grew increasingly nervous. His Army buddies Marco Fawkes and Jerry Chambers suspected that there was something unusual about Dad, but only Marco admitted that he had thought that he had seen Dad standing beside Mom just the bus had left for boot camp. Yet, Fawn had unequivocal proof of Dad's condition, and he had no idea of how she would respond to the truth—if Dad ever gave him permission to tell someone about him.

The crowds thinned, and Abe noticed that they were finally alone. He stopped and motioned for her to sit on a nearby bench. She accepted his offer, and he settled down next to her.

"Abe, what is this about?"

He raised his hand. "What do you remember about that day?"

She nervously inhaled. "I was playing with my sister when I heard two men demand money from someone. I looked up and saw your father refuse them. One man took a knife out of his coat pocket and stepped closer to your father. The next thing that I knew, he fell to the ground. I tried to get my parents' attention, but they told me that it was nothing. I looked back. I saw you and your mother leaving your picnic to go to him when your father suddenly disappeared. A few minutes later, I noticed a wet, naked man walking toward you and realized it was your father. I was so scared by the incident that I couldn't look at him again until he picked you up on the last day of school."

Abe gulped. _Nuts! She saw everything!_ "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No one. You're the first person that I've told. Because my parents didn't believe me when I saw your father being attacked, I thought that no one would believe me if I mentioned it to them."

Abe noticed her face. Fawn wore the same expression that Jo had when she had come to the shop with Dad's watch and the incriminating photograph of the two of them and Mom.

Abe lowered his eyes to the ground. He suddenly felt torn between Dad's need for secrecy and Fawn's need for the truth. Admittedly, the puppy love that had caused him to ask Fawn out when they were 12 and then to kiss her was maturing into an adult love, and he wanted to base the relationship in honesty. His father's condition, however, dictated that only a few people should know about it. Dad had let the team into their lives, but would he be willing to accept Fawn into their small inner circle?

Abe looked back up at her as her words registered in his mind. She hadn't said a word to _him_ about the incident, and _he_ was there. "If you saw me that day, why didn't you say anything about it to me later?"

She inhaled and looked toward the ground. "I thought that you wouldn't believe me either."

He studied her. He still could not believe that she hadn't talked about it for over 60 years.

He took a deep breath. He hoped that Dad would forgive him for what he was about to do next. If not, he could always remind Dad of what had almost happened when the immortal had tried to keep the truth from Jo.

He looked around to see if anyone was listening to them. Fortunately, they had complete solitude. He looked her in the eye and braced himself. "Henry is my father."

Her mouth dropped open at the admission. "What? How?"

"It's really his story to tell, but he's immortal."

She studied his face for a few moments. Then, she nodded and looked away. "So, he can die and come back to life?" The question seemed more directed to herself than to him.

She deserved the truth about another incident. "It explains why we suddenly disappeared the day after I had kissed you. Someone had recognized Dad from World War II, and Dad panicked. The next morning, we left New York and didn't return for a few years."

She faced him again. "He would in his 90s, right?"

 _At least she seems to believe me_. "More like 238."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she heard Dad's true age. She mouthed it and looked back at him. "And? Um… I—I'm speechless."

"Everything was a shock to me too." He would tell her the story of how he had learned about his father's condition later. Right now, she had a lot to process.

Abe waited as she sat in thought. After a few minutes, she finally found her voice. "After what I had seen that day, I believe you." She studied him for a moment and then smiled. "When I saw the two of you at Lyle's funeral, I knew who you were because of him."

They sat in silence for another couple of minutes. "I remember you telling me in Bellevue's lobby that he knocked himself out and had to go to the hospital. Is he okay now?"

Abe stared at her. He wasn't expecting that change in topic.

A pang of guilt struck him, and he took another deep breath to steady his emotions. "I told you that because I really didn't know myself. Over the past week and a half, I had learned that he had tried to rescue someone and suffered carbon monoxide poisoning in the process. I'm sorry if it seems like I've misled you."

She placed her hand over his. Abe looked down at her hand and back up at her. "How's he doing?"

"Not well. He's suffering from amnesia." Tears began to form, and Abe inhaled to hold them back. "His friends from work and I are trying to jog his memory, but, due to his 'condition', we're not sure what to do." Relief of being able to talk about it with someone outside the group flooded him.

"Do they know about him?"

Abe chuckled and nodded. "Lucas had guessed the truth. Mike watched one of his deaths. Lt. Reece heard about it from one of our former neighbors. And Jo—." The chuckle grew. "Before he told Jo, he had dropped so many hints about his condition that she could piece together the truth from them. Not to mention, she's found his watch after three of his deaths, and she halfway watched a fourth. _And_ she had lost track of the number of times he had confronted their suspect without any thought of what could happen to him."

"He's got a thing for her, huh?"

"Yeah." He had never thought that Dad's growing affection for Jo had led him to be much more honest with her than anyone else at the time. "Even with amnesia, he somehow remembers his connection to her. Based on what I saw this morning, I suspect they've finally confessed their love for each other yesterday."

"How about his relationship with you?"

He reviewed everything that had happened since Dad had woken up. Oddly enough, when Abe had said 'Dad' out of frustration last week, Dad was shocked to hear the name, but he had never challenged it. From that moment on, Abe could see peeks of their true relationship, and it was more evident this morning. Before breakfast, Dad had used his paternal, authoritative tone of voice again, and he had looked confused as to why he was acting like a father.

Abe inhaled to fight tears of joy. "Subconsciously, I think he knows the truth about us. It's just a matter of getting him to actually remember it."

"What have you tried so far?"

"His daily life seemed to have brought back a few things." He grinned. "Jo's taking him swimming as we speak. I hope that it's working. If not, well, he's got his first look at her in her swimsuit since everything started."

"What else?"

"We haven't gotten that far. Everyone else has been busy with cases and bodies."

"Maybe we can brainstorm some ways to jog his memory."

Abe stared in utter amazement at the woman before him. How he had been so fortunate to have her in his life—twice—he would never know.

As they rose from the bench, she looked over at him. "How about taking him to a museum?"

 _Museum. Nuts! I was supposed to do that today! What if she wants to see what I have been working on for the last three months?_

"How would you like to go to one with me?" He raised his hand. "It might help us get some ideas of how to help Dad."

"I would love to go. Which one?"

As he told her, he placed his hand on her lower back. While they discussed the museum's exhibits, Abe smiled. He was grateful for three amazing women who had accepted him, his father, and their lives—no matter how crazy their past seemed to others. Now, he had to figure out how to break the news to Dad about Fawn's knowledge and acceptance of his condition.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** By the way, in my head canon for this story, this is the first—and it will be the only—time that Abe willfully disregards Henry's need for secrecy.

The video that Donnie shows Henry is online. Go to YouTube and type in "World Trade Center elevator ride up". You will find several videos of the ride posted on the site. As for Henry's explanation about how he knew Jo had tried to rescue from Donnie, I tried to model the drop in my head as I wrote the explanation. I don't know if it's fully accurate, but I tried.

The Plaza Nouveau is based on the Ansonia, located on West 77th Street.


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note** : There are major references to the Pilot, "Look Before You Leap", "The Pugilist Break", "The King of Columbus Circle", and "The Last Death of Henry Morgan". There are also general references to every episode.

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

Henry tilted his head back to see the glass skyscraper. Mankind had been constructing structures that stretched toward the heavens since time immemorial. No matter their purpose—worship, fame, aesthetic design, economic savings—the buildings and monuments had always inspired awe in those who walked under their shadows. Including, at the moment, him.

He felt a hand slide around his waist. He quickly dropped his head and gazed at Jo as she nestled her shoulder against his. Her warm touch rendered his mind incapable of thought. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer to him.

His eyes roamed her face. He was still amazed by her influence on him—body, heart, mind, and soul. Their affectionate gestures always created a calming effect that allowed them to consider the other's words. Now, he felt an intense, persistent impulse to be near her, and her touch produced a blissful ecstasy that left him intoxicated. He would suppress his selfish cravings for it, yet his own touch was generating the same effects in her. Their mutual desire to be with each other was something that he wished they would never tire of.

She sighed. "I've lived in this city all my life, and this is the most tourist-y thing that I've ever done."

He doubted that. "You had never been on a class trip?"

"We had one field trip to the National Museum when I was in the eighth grade, and that was tied into our New York history lesson." They joined the few visitors who were entering the building. "Since we've started working together, I have been to more museums, theatrical productions, parks, and even consulates than I had ever been to in my life." Her face glowed as she spoke.

"You enjoy it." He wasn't sure if he had ever noticed her interest before, but he did now.

She glanced up at him, smiled, and returned her focus to the lobby. "Admittedly, yeah, but I usually can't enjoy it the way most people do."

"Like this." Their cases apparently had kindled and fueled her desire of taking in a cultural event.

"Exactly like this."

They quickly found and followed signs directing them to the elevators to the observatory. As they fell into line, Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of annual passes—a congratulatory gift from the Hanson family who had purchased them online once Jo had joined him on the balcony. When Mike handed them to Henry, he had mentioned that the family had decided on the destination because of his and Jo's interest in the video. Mike added that they had assumed that the tickets would provide Henry and Jo flexibility in case they wanted to return on another date.

Jo glanced at the passes. "I still can't believe that Mike and Karen gave them to us."

Henry chuckled. "It is quite the unusual way of celebrating our becoming a couple."

Suddenly, he heard the couple in front of them discussing something. At first, the words were simultaneously strange and familiar. As he listened, he gradually began to understand their conversation about what to expect during the trip to New York. He felt guilty for listening to the exchange and for not paying more attention to Jo. Strangely, though, she didn't appear to be offended by his inattention.

He decided that he should speak up. " _Dobryy den'."_

The couple startled, spun around, and stared at him. After a moment, the man shifted his weight. "How do you know Russian?"

 _Excellent question_. He searched what he had deduced to provide them with an answer. "I learned it when I traveled to Russia years ago."

The woman looked at them. "We're from Moscow. What part of the country did you visit?"

"Saint Petersburg." Jo's grip on his waist kept him from dwelling on the forming questions.

The man extended his hand. "I'm Samuil, and this is my wife Larisa."

"Henry." He took it into his free hand. "And this is my girlfriend Jo." He caught himself. He had _never_ addressed Jo in that manner before, but it was so natural to use the term.

Samuil and Larisa greeted Jo.

She shook her head. "Sorry, I don't understand what you're saying."

"We're sorry." Samuil's English surprised the other couple. "We were saying that we're pleased to meet you."

Larisa released Jo's free hand. "How long have you been together?"

Henry and Jo conversed with their eyes before Jo turned to them. "Since yesterday, but we've been friends for a few years. How long have you two been married?"

"Twenty years. Are you from here?"

"I'm New York born and raised." The line sped closer to the security checkpoint.

Samuil looked at Henry. "And you?"

"I'm originally from London, but I've lived here for a while." He suddenly found himself unable to tell them that he had moved to the city in 1994, the only year that anyone had mentioned in connection to the event.

Samuil and Larisa looked at each other. "Have you been here before?"

"This is our first time."

Larisa's eyes darted from Henry to Jo. "Ours too. We came here on holiday."

The guards at the checkpoint motioned for Samuil and Larisa to move forward. Henry nodded toward the checkpoint. "I think they're ready for you."

"Well, we will see you on the observation deck."

" _Do vstrechi_." Henry watched as Samuil and Larisa joined the guards. Would he and Jo be like Mike and Karen or even Samuil and Larisa one day?

Jo nudged him, and they stepped closer to their destination. Her eyes widened, and there was a smile on her face. "That?"

He chuckled. "I believe so." English, Spanish, French, Russian, Greek (as made evident by his ability to translate the menu at lunch)—what type of life had led him to learn those languages?

A guard waved at them, prompting them to step forward. Henry handed her the passes and emptied his pockets. As he walked through the metal detector, he could see himself and Jo waiting in line at another checkpoint and discussing his and his wife's trip aboard the Orient Express and Jo and her husband's trip to the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. A light nudge from Jo brought his attention back to the past and reminded him to collect his belongings.

"Wow." The guard's voice attracted his attention. "Annual passes _and_ New Yorkers."

"They were a gift."

"With these, you can go straight up to the observation deck." She directed Henry to a private walkway. As he thanked her, Jo joined him. He wrapped his arms around her and pointed her to the hallway.

"Sir!"

He spun around and noticed the guard holding something. While walking toward her, he realized that it was Abe's watch. _Nuts! Abe will kill me if I lost it!_ Oddly, he sensed that losing a watch would truly be associated with death.

He took the watch from the guard and slipped it on. "I'm sorry. I forgot that I had left it in my pocket."

"Next time, leave it on your wrist." She smiled. "You and your girlfriend enjoy yourselves."

Jo's jaw dropped. "We're not—."

Henry wrapped his arm around Jo and steered her toward the walkway. "Thank you."

As they walked, Jo pulled her lips together and let her arms hang beside her.

He hated to see her like this. "What?"

"It's ridiculous." She huffed. After a moment, she turned to him. "I didn't want to use 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' until after we started dating."

That caused her sullen mood. "I don't recall any use of the terms outside of lovers. If you want to, we could use 'sweethearts' or 'paramours' until then. I would advise against the latter—."

Laughing, she slid one arm around him, preventing any questions from forming. "Since you've put it that way—." Her fingers sent another wave of intoxicating pleasure through him. "I've never thought of us like that before."

He drew her closer to him. "Neither have I."

The elevator doors opened just as they arrived in the hallway. Once inside, Henry slipped Abe's watch off his wrist and inserted it into his pocket. He breathed a sigh of welcomed relief when he once again took Jo into his arm.

"Why did you take it off?"

He looked at her. "It chafes my wrist every time that I wear it. I don't want to be without a watch because of my job. I need a timepiece—."

"Have you considered wearing your pocket watch again?"

He squinted at her. _What does she mean by that?_

Before either of them could speak, the car jerked up. He craned his neck and realized that they were rapidly ascending. Trying to calm himself, he looked around and noticed that they were the elevator's lone occupants.

The walls arrested his attention, and Henry recognized the changing scenes as the video that they had watched earlier. As the years passed, he found himself drawn to the streets. What would it be like to see the changes as they happened? Was life like what he had seen when they had traveled to the Plaza Nouveau? Was it possible—?

The opening doors revealing a man interrupted his thoughts. "Dr. Morgan, Miss Martinez?" He ushered them through a room and into the observatory. "Take as much time as you like."

Henry inhaled in amazement as he noticed the slightly cloudy blue sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Ignoring the other attractions, he and Jo walked over to the windows and looked out over the city.

Jo's eyes widened, and her mouth opened. "Wow! Talk about the view!"

He gazed out the window and listened as she excitedly pointed out the sites. When she pointed to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, he suddenly saw himself looking at the statue—which turned copper-toned—from a boat and then people jostling him, his wife, and their infant as they made their way to a counter. To his surprise, the images didn't disturb him like the others had. Focusing on Jo, he let the flashes pass without a thought.

Eventually, they overlooked the Lower East Side and Gramercy. As he tried to find the shop and their place of work, he smiled. In spite of whatever had happened to him in his past, he had a good life now. He might always dwell on his previous life in London, but New York was as much home as the city of his birth had been. He had a family, friends, and a job that gave him a sense of purpose. He once had a loving relationship with his wife, and he had a second chance at love with Jo. Everything felt so right, and he wouldn't exchange it for anything—not even for all of the time in the world.

* * *

Henry stole a loving glance at Jo as they watched the East River flow past them. He felt no desire to do anything else. For as long as he was with her, he was content.

Jo slightly shifted, rousing his mind from its slumber in the process. He momentarily recalled their departure from the observatory and their decision to come here. They had silently walked, first with arms wound around each other and then hand-in-hand, until they had surrendered to their languor and sat on the grass near the river's banks.

He committed every detail about her to memory. She was the—.

First, a wave of familiarity overwhelmed him. Then—.

"What?"

Jo's voice cut through his thoughts. He slowly turned to her.

He happily inhaled. "I was thinking about the moment that we met."

Jo's eyes widened, and she dared not to move.

"As I cut into the man on my autopsy table, I called him 'lucky'. I heard a feminine voice ask me how." The rest of the memory encouraged him to leave the matter alone for the time being. "I looked up to see who asked me that question, and I noticed the most beautiful woman in the world introducing herself and pulling out her badge." He took her hand and absent-mindedly traced its outline with his thumb. "I couldn't take my eyes off of you." He wished that he could remember what his first words to her were, but whatever they were, they must have attracted her interest in him.

Grinning, she lowered her eyes and moved her free hand toward an errant strand of hair. He reached up and gently brushed it back. As he curved his hand around her ear, he became unable to think. He gazed into her brown eyes and immediately lost himself in them.

He barely felt a couple of drops of water strike his free hand. A few more landed on him, prompting him to observe his surroundings. He looked up at the dark-gray sky, and more raindrops fell on his face.

He and Jo looked at each other and scrambled to their feet. He quickly stripped his coat off and held it over their heads. At first, she looked confused. Then, she grabbed the coat's lapel, and they raced back to the car.

A few moments later, he held the garment over her as she opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat. He ran around, slid into his spot, and closed the door. Panting more from excitement than exhaustion, he watched the numerous raindrops pelt the windshield.

Once he caught his breath, he faced her. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes shone as she gazed at him.

All of his words to describe her beauty instantly failed him. His eyes returned to her lips. When he looked back into her eyes, he was irresistibly drawn toward her. He leaned forward—.

Suddenly, he heard a rapping sound coming from behind Jo. He glanced over her shoulder and embarrassingly pulled himself back when he saw a patrol officer on the other side of the door.

At the same time, Jo startled and turned toward the man. She pushed a button to lower the window. "What?"

"Your car's been sitting here for two hours, and I wanted to warn you before I gave you a ticket." His eyes darted to Henry and then back to Jo. "Do I need to remind you that this isn't make-out point?" He smirked. "Have a nice day."

As she rolled up the window, they looked at each other. She studied him as he leaned back in the seat. "This isn't your first time hearing that phrase."

"It's been around since the 1930s. I believe that I've heard it referred to as 'lover's lane' before." _Where did that come from?_

They fell silent for a moment. "Should we go and tell Abe the good news?"

 _Abe_. In all of the afternoon's events, Henry had almost forgotten about his roommate. He pulled out the other man's wristwatch and quickly checked the time. He sighed. It was getting late, and Abe might start to worry about him soon.

"I guess so. Abe's likely expecting me." He turned to her. It was about an hour left before dinner, and, like that one evening a few years ago, he didn't want his day with Jo to end. "Why don't you join us for dinner?"

Jo smiled at him. "I would love to." She started the car. "He'll be thrilled to hear what happened."

Henry closed his eyes and reviewed the day while she moved out of their parking space. He smiled. His memory was beginning to flow again, and it felt marvelous. Hopefully, every bit of it would return soon.

* * *

Henry stared at the golden-brown, bread-like food sitting on the table. His appetite had been mostly sated by the pierogis that Abe had cooked for dinner. Yet, the sight of the mysterious food was making his mouth water.

He turned to Abe and pointed at the bowl. "What is that?"

Abe dried his hands on the towel over his shoulder. "Blueberry scones."

Henry turned back and removed one from the top. He bit into it, and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. The dessert crumbled delectably in his mouth while the blueberries added a delightful amount of sweetness. He immediately regretted not taking one when Abe had made them last week. Had he known how delicious it would be—.

As he took another bite, he heard Abe joyfully chuckle. "I thought that I might not see this again."

Henry swallowed and studied the treat. This was a favorite of his. He could see why he had liked it so much and why Abe was concerned about his eating habits.

The other man joined him and took one for himself. While they ate, Henry's mind drifted back to his and Jo's afternoon. Their outing and their dinner had given her so much pleasure. If they were able to have some time off work simultaneously in the near future, he wanted to treat her to a real date.

As he finished his scone, he looked over at Abe. The other man peered into the living room.

"What's in the canister?"

Henry swallowed. He had been postponing the completion of the unfinished task, and he had hoped that Abe wouldn't bring it up tonight in light of the day's remarkable events. He nervously stared at his roommate as he eased into the living room. "Lt. Reece let me take a John Hodgkins map out of the precinct for analysis. Personally, I don't see why—."

"May I see it?"

Surprised by the request, Henry slipped the document out of its holder. Abe took it and closely examined it for a minute. Then, he wordlessly left the room. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a loupe. He took the map into the kitchen and held it up to the lights. Upon his reentry into the living room, he ran his fingers along the edges. Puzzled, he picked up the loupe and spent several minutes scrutinizing the document.

When he finished, he placed his hands on his hips and inhaled in amazement. Whatever Abe had found was significant.

"I can tell you that this could be the original map." He carefully picked up the document and showed it to Henry. "It's in the paper. It's printed on a rag-based, woven paper—."

Henry no longer saw them in the living room. Instead, they were downstairs talking about the paper that a different document—a note—was written on. The next instant, Henry remembered writing a letter on the same stationary at the Hotel Montoliogne in Milan. He looked back at the woman he loved—a woman that he now recognized as his late wife—picked up his suitcase, and left her. Just as he turned a corner, she rapidly approached him and confronted him about his decision. After he admitted that he loved her, they passionately kissed on the street.

When the scene faded, he widened his eyes and blinked. There was no way that he could have been involved in World War II. Then again, nothing about himself suggested that he had ever served in the military. Yet, an Army uniform—apparently his as he was wearing it—and the timing of the paper factory's bombing suggested otherwise.

"If it isn't, it might be either a lithograph or a print from the very late 1700s."

Abe's statement redirected Henry's attention to the case. "How would you find out?"

"We could look it up online." With that, Abe left to get his laptop.

As Abe disappeared into the hallway, Henry inserted the map back into the canister. He headed back into the kitchen, eagerly took another scone, and savored every morsel of the sweet.

Abe returned to the dining room table with his laptop. A few minutes later, he opened the search engine and typed in the details about the map. Henry leaned over Abe's shoulder and read the list of links. He saw a considerable number of biographies for Mr. Hodgkins, most of which pricked his memory, but nothing about the map itself.

After a while, Abe huffed in frustration. He began to turn around, causing Henry to lean back to avoid a collision. "I don't think we're going to ever learn anything about the map."

"Maybe we're approaching this the wrong way. Perhaps we need to determine whether it's a lithograph or a print."

"Unfortunately, my expertise extends only to the paper it's printed on. Do you have any ideas?"

Henry thought about it for a minute. "Neil Shapiro, our customer, had mentioned something called _Antiques Roadshow_ when we had carried the items that he had purchased back to his apartment. He said that it is a TV series about antiques appraisals. Someone from it might have some information on the types of printing."

After Abe typed in the name, Henry scanned the list of links. He noticed two pages, one American and one—judging by the letters "B", "B", "C"—British, shared the same name.

Abe must had seen the links also. "Um, which version are we looking for?"

"Judging by Neil's accent, I would say American." Henry looked back at the screen. The British version's page might feature something from his or even his namesake's past. "You should save the British version just in case we can't find anything on the other site."

The two men resumed their positions. Abe clicked on the link for the British version, somehow saved it, and went back to the previous page. A couple of clicks later, the contents of the American version appeared. Henry saw a large box with a play button on the screen.

Abe clicked on the video. As the two men watched a few minutes of it, Henry remembered placing a record onto a brand new Technics SL-220 record player like the one that a guest had brought with them. He blinked and shook his head. That wasn't possible. According to the appraiser, the company had produced the model only in 1978, and he wasn't born then. Perhaps his parents had owned one, and he was remembering a day that he had played a record on theirs.

In an attempt to distract himself, Henry glanced down at Abe. His roommate was entranced by the video's contents. "I want to know when they'll come back to New York. I can take some of the things from the shop to the show."

"For appraisal?" As Abe was an antiques dealer, he would know how to appraise an object. If not, he should have his sources.

Abe turned around again. This time, Henry anticipated Abe's move and straightened up just before Abe made it. "This is market research…and, admittedly, a chance to find some more items to sell."

"Why? The shop already looks like a museum." A quick memory of him telling Abe the same thing flashed in front of him.

"I would be nuts to turn down money like that." He pointed his thumb toward the computer. "I mean, $15,000 for a painting, $2,000 for a book. Can you imagine what I can sell them for?"

Henry's eyes widened. Abe had just supplied a possible motive for Titus' murder—and likely Brent's and Gene's as well. Yet, they needed to know what he and Lucas had found. "Well, can we get back to learning more about lithographs and prints?"

Abe turned back around. His slumped shoulders might had suggested that he was displeased with the interruption, but he still was interested in the search. He typed the word "lithograph" into a box in the top right-hand corner of the screen. Another list appeared, and he clicked on another video. This time, another appraiser discussed the differences between a lithograph, a print, and a reproduction with the show's guest.

Henry looked over his shoulder and eyed the document lying on the coffee table. In spite of the new information, he couldn't tell the difference. Even if he could, his testimony would be valued far less than that from a qualified expert in the field. He would need some professional assistance.

Henry stepped away from Abe and walked down the stairs. A few steps down, he looked back up at his roommate. Abe hadn't notice that he left; he was watching another video to see what he could attempt to buy for resell. Smiling, Henry continued his journey to the desk downstairs.

Once he arrived at his destination, he turned on the light before sitting down in the chair behind Abe's desk. Henry opened a drawer and pulled out a few files. In each of the folders, he saw a group of receipts from previous sells in the 1990s and 2000s, invoices, an inventory list, and tax returns. He replaced them and pulled out a couple of books. He opened the top one; it was a ledger. He placed it back in the drawer and opened the second book.

As he read the contents, he realized that this book of contacts was what he needed. He scanned each page, looking for a dealer who specialized in lithographs and prints. Each entry, written in apparently Abe's handwriting, contained the dealer's name, contact information, and expertise.

Henry sighed. None of the people whom he had seen so far could help him with the appraisal. He turned the page and scanned the list. One name stood out from the rest; there was no contact information or specialty listed. He smiled. This could be the person he was looking for.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and he turned around to their source. Abe appeared in the threshold. "I was wondering where you were."

"I believe that I've found someone who can help us."

Abe wrinkled his brow in thought. "Who?"

"The Frenchman."

Abe's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped open. He started stammering and then grew quiet. After a moment's silence, Abe finally found his voice. "As much as I would like to help you, you're on your own for this one."

"Why? He should be pleased to assist with a criminal investigation."

Abe stared at Henry. "Let's say this. It's complicated."

"Well, if you refuse to tell me why you dislike him, at least tell me where I can find him."

Abe chuckled. "7th and Reade, next to the bagel shop." He paused. "If you need me, I'll be upstairs."

Henry watched Abe turn and leave. He turned his attention back to The Frenchman's name in the ledger. Why did Abe refuse to talk about the dealer? Whatever it was, it was probably the reason why he hadn't included the person's contact information.

Henry closed the book and returned it to the drawer. As he turned to the threshold, he looked at the ticking grandfather clock. He would bring this possible lead to Jo's attention early tomorrow morning. Maybe she would want to accompany him to The Frenchman's shop.

He began to climb the stairs, and his mind returned to what had happened throughout the day. Jo's story about his life had given him the context which the clinical facts had failed to provide. He now knew that he had struggled with something during his early life in England. Whatever had happened in his youth had prompted his extensive travels, his decisions to become a gravedigger and then a medical examiner, and possibly his move to New York. In spite of the situation initially complicating his relationships, his late wife, Abe, Jo, Mike, Lucas, and Lt. Reece had accepted him for who he was.

Yet, what had happened to him? Why did Jo say that his life story was a surprise?

The partial memory of him, a man, and a woman standing in the shop's threshold returned. He now could see that the other two people were Abe and Jo, and he held an undefined picture in his hand. He heard Abe implore him to "tell her" just before he nervously let her into the building.

He inhaled as his mind drifted to his memory in the pool. If he trusted Jo, then why was he so hesitant to tell her the truth about himself? Did his lies force her to briefly consider ending their relationship? What had prompted him to decide to confess everything to her? Then again, why was Abe the only one to know the truth about him back then?

As he reentered the kitchen, he inhaled. Was everything about his life related to the scar on his chest? It, his tendency to be found near the river naked, his near–drowning, his apparent agelessness, and the occasion impression that Abe was younger than he was were the only things that he could not explain about his life.

He walked over to the sofa and sat down. At the same time, he didn't know what to think about the brief flashes of what had appeared to be life in the past and about his odd knowledge. Abe, Jo, Lucas, Karen, Samuil, and Larisa had implied that what he was seeing and what he knew were real. Karen's description of the history of mapmaking confirmed that his 'visions' were indeed set in a different time. Jo and Abe had not challenged his claims of seeing New York in the past. Moreover, they had appeared to believe him and had seemed conflicted about what to tell him.

As for the other couple, he didn't expect what had happened when he and Jo had encountered them again on the observation deck. Samuil and Larisa invited Henry and Jo to join them. As they discussed life in Russia, Samuil asked Henry about his time in Saint Petersburg. He initially stated that he didn't remember much because it was a long time ago. A moment later, he said that he vaguely remembered the Imperial Music Choir and _Ves Peterburg_. Samuil and Larisa turned to each other and then gave him a strange look. Larisa, a high school history teacher, informed him that those names hadn't been used since 1917. He glanced over at Jo and noticed her surprised expression. Stunned by the naturalness of his comment and everyone's reaction, he had embarrassingly brushed it off as something that he had heard his grandmother mention while retelling his great-grandfather's stay in the city.

Perhaps it was true—that the odd flashes and knowledge were memories. If so, then he had purchased his clothes in Spitalfields at the time the silk weavers had begun to flee the region for better economic opportunities, and he had lived in the district after it had become known as a slum area. He had lived in New York since 1889. He had gone through Ellis Island twice. He had lived in Russia at the time of the czars. He had been involved in World War II, and he and his wife had traveled to Milan shortly after the war. Afterwards, they and their child had moved to New York and rented an apartment. He and his wife had honeymooned on the Orient Express before it had ceased operations along the Budapest-to-Istanbul route. He had lived through the 1970s.

He thought back to the daydreams that he had had since he had woken up. They were as vivid as the images of a different New York were. Were they memories as well?

He sighed. That was as possible as him saving a boy's life in 1865 and being 188 years old—or, based on Lucas' statement about him living in the early 1800s, even older.

Henry stood up and began to pace. He must be mad to consider the impossible—even for a brief moment. Perhaps the short amount of time before the effects of his carbon monoxide poisoning became permanent had created a desperation which drove his desire to take anything—no matter how insane it sounded—and accept it as the truth.

He stopped. As he peered into the kitchen, he noticed Abe watching another video on _Antiques Roadshow_ 's web site. Abe had been ecstatic to hear what had transpired throughout the day when Henry and Jo had returned to the shop. Instead of suggesting that they should celebrate, he nervously asked Jo if he could see her in the stairwell. After a moment, Henry heard Jo exclaim, "You did _what_?!" Although her voice was muffled, he had heard Jo scold Abe as a mother would a child.

Abe's and Jo's argumentative undertones which grew even softer as their discussion progressed had indicated that their conversation was connected to Henry's strange hallucinations. It was as though they were hiding something from him. Henry was determined to find out what it was.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Henry's "daydreams" are the flashbacks in Chapters 3, 5, 8, 17, and 26. (The one in Chapter 26 is the very brief one that happens when Henry's looking at the Hodgkins map.)

A couple of notes about the scene in the One World Trade Center Observatory. First, the Russian phrases that Henry uses are "Good day" and "See you later". (By the way, Henry and the Russian cellist use the phrase _Dobryy den'_ in the Pilot.) Second, I have never been there, so I don't fully know what happens if you purchase a pass like Henry and Jo's. I got some information from the observatory's website and went from there.

I made up the episode of _Antiques Roadshow_ , and the clip about lithographs is from the same fictitious episode. As far as I know, no one has brought a Technics SL-220 record player (which is real!) to the US version of the show. If they have, the show's producers had decided that it wasn't interesting enough to feature, but the appraisers had given the owner an appraisal anyway. As for the show itself, they have been to New York in 2001 and 2014, and the episodes aired the following years.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note** : There are references to "Look Before You Leap", "The Art of Murder", "New York Kids", and "Memories of Murder".

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

Henry didn't know which was worse: not knowing what was happening to him or having a nagging thought that, if he continued to pursue his plans to determine the truth about himself, he could destroy everything that he cared about.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Breakfast had left him perplexed and unnerved. When he had asked Abe about his military service and his move to New York, the older man had hesitated before giving him vague responses to his questions. Ironically, the answers suggested that, to have become a doctor while in England, to have served in the military as an Army doctor, and to have moved to New York in 1994, he was surprisingly in his 50s. A moment later, Abe inquired about his daydreams. As much as he wanted to avoid answering the question, Henry unwillingly yielded to his roommate's request.

Abe's interest and belief in the daydreams had completely unsettled Henry. Their descriptions were so coherent and so vivid—almost as if he had lived them. Their unusual nature should have prompted a conversation about visiting a doctor or a psychiatrist to diagnosis their cause. Yet, Abe didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about them. What was it about them that had made him think that Henry had told him the truth?

 _I wish that I could remember everything about my life like I remember last night's dinner_. At that moment, Henry's ruminations turned to the night's events. The meal and everyone's conversation about their day's activities had been the nearly perfect end to his and Jo's day. When dinner had concluded, he escorted Jo back to her car. He looked at her as she stopped beside her vehicle, and he felt physically drawn toward her again. The moment that he leaned forward to kiss her goodnight, a group of excited college basketball fans making their way toward the bars shoved him into her. His annoyance at their rudeness quickly squelched his romantic impulse. When he had reluctantly watched her leave, he had reminded himself that he would see her again in a few hours.

His thought about seeing her at work reminded him of his location. He could spend all day dwelling on the memory, and he would never be able to finish his tasks.

As he started to look down at his desk, he noticed something swinging in front of his eyes. A low, masculine voice drawly droned, "You are getting sleepy, slee-py."

The word "MetroCard" caught his eye. Henry snatched the lanyard in mid-swing and pulled it away from a surprised Lucas.

"Wow! That was like watching Mr. Miyagi catching a fly with chopsticks."

 _Who?_ "I would like to meet your friend one day.

Lucas rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair opposite Henry. "We really need to schedule a movie night. The first order of business: making you watch _The Karate Kid_. That is, if—."

Henry narrowed his eyes in confusion. "That doesn't sound like your sort of movie." Then, it dawned on him. "Tori."

"Actually, her roommate. Tori's as big of a horror fan as I am."

"Hey!"

Henry peered around Lucas just as the other man turned toward the feminine voice's origin. Tori leaned against the threshold of the autopsy room and demurely waved at Lucas.

Her eyes met Henry's, and she regained her sense of professionalism. "Hi, Dr. Morgan."

She returned to her focus on Lucas. "I'll see you later." She pantomimed the use of a phone, mouthed "Call me", and walked off.

"I take it that your weekend went rather well." Henry smiled at the thought of his own weekend with his girlfriend.

Lucas slowly turned back around to face Henry. "You bet it did." He grinned. "We saw the movie that we were interested in. It was horrible! Don't get me started on how bad it was. I would rather forget that I had even seen it. Oops, sorry. That was a very bad choice of words." He waved a hand as though the motion could wipe his words from their minds.

"Anyway, we both agreed that I could remake it and probably win an Oscar for it. Since the movie was so terrible, I took a page from your book and suggested that we should get together on Sunday and do something. She invited me to her apartment. When I arrived yesterday morning, I had to wait until her roommate left, but, after that, we had it all to ourselves. Tori has—."

The weight of the lanyard in his hands drew Henry's attention away from Lucas' rambling narrative. He glanced down at the card. He didn't know how, but he knew what his assistant had tried to do. _Could Lucas' idea expedite the return of my memory?_ He pushed the thought out of his mind. There was a distinct possibility that it would only make matters worse.

Lucas' voice trailed off. Henry looked back up and noticed the other man staring at the lanyard.

Henry handed the card back to his assistant. "Lucas, I really appreciate the effort to help me jog my memory." He sighed. "I—."

Lucas' eyes widened and his jaw dropped open as he took his card and slipped it into his pocket. "You just—."

Henry smiled. "I would have known your name earlier, but your illegible penmanship had kept me from learning it from our files. I asked Jo about it yesterday morning."

Lucas blankly stared at the medical examiner as he stood. He then excitedly lunged over the desk with open arms. Henry threw both hands up in front of him to prevent the incoming embrace.

Fortunately, Lucas got the message. Smiling, he lowered himself back into his seat. "That's awesome! I should be disappointed that you needed ask someone about it, but I'm not. Of course you would remember Jo's name. You two have always had a special connection, and I've been shipping you since our first year of working with her." He paused. "Where did this occur?"

"Jo took me to the Plaza Nouveau's swimming pool to help me conquer my fear of the water." He bit his lower lip in thought. If he started to reveal everything that had happened throughout the day, he would become so distracted by his pleasurable memory that he would be unable to finish his story. _Having Jo as my and Abe's guest for breakfast_ _yesterday morning_ _and_ "the time in the water appeared to facilitate the flow of memories."

"How much do you remember?"

Henry reviewed the amount and sighed. "It's not as much as I would like." He gave Lucas what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "But I _am_ remembering things again."

Lucas thought for a moment. "Close your eyes."

Henry cocked his head and stared at him.

"Just humor me."

Henry sighed. He didn't see what harm it would do. He straightened up and followed Lucas' instruction.

"What do you see?"

The image of Henry's wife—a much older version of her with a blonde dye masking her gray locks and wrinkles gracing her face—appeared. Seeking to comfort her, he took her hand into his and wrapped his free hand around her waist as he echoed Lucas' order and asked her where they were. She replied "The Queensbury All-Service Club" and described how they looked and what they were doing. As he began to dance with her, he told her that they were there.

Henry's eyes flew open. How long had he and his wife been together?

He stared at his assistant. "What have I told you about my wife?"

Lucas appeared confused. "Your wife?"

"I've deduced that I've been previously married." He braced himself for Lucas' response. "What about her?"

The assistant medical examiner stuttered and reached behind his head. "Why did you ask?"

"Lucas." Henry was in no mood for his assistant's evasiveness.

The young man inhaled at the sound of Henry's stern voice. "Let's say this: it's complicated."

Henry sighed. It was obvious that Lucas would not give him any answers.

Searching for a distraction that would dissipate his growing frustration, he looked down at his desk. He flipped through the mail and found a manila envelope. He opened it and read the papers. He knitted his eyebrows together. One of the test results didn't match their visual findings.

He looked back up at Lucas. "We need to reexamine Titus' body."

* * *

Jo stared at the mound of paperwork on her desk. The memory of Henry almost kissing her—twice—would distract her all day if she wasn't careful.

To keep her mind on her work, she riffled through the documents to see what they were. She opened a folder in the middle of the stack and then another. After perusing several folders, she buried her head in her hands. How could she have done this?

"What's wrong?"

She jerked her head toward Mike. "I just found half of our background checks."

"Let me guess." He motioned his cup of coffee toward her desk. "If Doc autopsied your desk, he would say that your messiness caused you to lose them." He took a sip of his beverage.

She glared at him. She was organized…enough. Yet, ever since Tyler Forester's death, Henry had always complained about her organizational skills.

Mike studied her. "Speaking of him, did you two enjoy yourselves yesterday?"

She nodded and decided how much to tell him. "We did. We still can't believe that you and Karen gave us annual passes."

Mike sat his cup down and sat down. "It took you two long enough to confess your feelings for each other and to finally get together. It was reason enough." He chuckled. "Believe it or not, my two hooligans loved the idea."

She stared at her official partner. Something told her that they would be giving up their vacations for a couple of years to cover the tickets, the hotel room, and their plumbing issues. The smile on Mike's face indicated that two of those were expenses that he didn't mind.

She reviewed several of the files in preparation for her interview with Titus' parents. A few minutes after she finished, something crossed her mind. "What did you find out after I left work the other day?"

He took another sip of coffee. "Get this. Brent and Gene owned a successful antique shop, and Titus was their cashier. A few weeks ago, Gene hired a new cashier to help them with their sales and to replace Titus once he and Karen received their grant money."

Jo raised her eyebrows. She didn't expect that.

"Also, Doc and Lucas found a John Hodgkins map in Titus' car. Karen texted Sandra about it last night." He leaned forward. "Sandra said that Hodgkins drew maps for the British military during the 1770s and 1780s. He published a few maps for others, particularly merchants and shipping companies, and the one that Doc found could be quite valuable."

She nodded. That was in line with what Henry had suggested when he had come to her desk earlier.

"Henry and I are going over to Gertrude Yokomoto's shop later today to see if." She stifled a growing laugh at his expense. "To see if she knows anything about the map."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "He still doesn't remember who she is, right?"

She shook her head.

After a moment, Mike started chuckling. "I would love to see the look on his face when he sees all of her antique weapons. Too bad you can't record the moment." He quickly sobered. "Although, seriously, her flirting gave _me_ the creeps the last time that we consulted her on a case. I don't know how he or Abe deals with it when one of them visits her."

Jo bit her lower lip. She might have a hard time keeping The Frenchman from flirting with Henry. Maybe if she could explain the situation to him on the way—.

"Jo."

Jo spun around and noticed Lt. Reece standing a few feet away. Sensing that it was time, she quickly headed her boss.

"You lost your background checks, didn't you?"

Jo stared at Lieu as she joined her side. Sometimes, she swore that Lieu was immortal herself and that _she_ was the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes instead of Dr. Joseph Bell or even Henry.

The lieutenant accepted Jo's silence as confirmation of her theory. She continued. "I called records, and they had told me that the reports had been sent to your desk last week."

Jo bit her lower lip and lowered her eyes to the ground. She must have taken the files and laid them down without opening them. Either that, or the officer from records had set the folders on her desk, and she had buried them under more paperwork. In any case, she had allowed her worries about Henry to distract her from the smallest details about the case, and she was to blame for the delay in their investigation.

They stepped into Lt. Reece's office, and the other woman shut the door. Lieu walked over to her desk, stopped, and folded her arms over her chest. Jo wordlessly waited for her boss's scolding.

Lieu inhaled. "I'm conflicted about this." Her stern voice sent an unexpected chill through Jo. "I've told you once before that I would not cut you any slack because of your personal grief. That was before—."

Jo nodded. That was before Lieu had gotten to know everyone, including the two members of the OCME who were a part of their team, and before the events of the past couple of weeks.

Lieu's eyes met hers. "This is one time that I'll accept it, but I do _not_ want it to _ever_ happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Lt. Reece's voice softened. "Did you enjoy your weekend?"

Memories of her and Henry's time together flooded back. "We did."

Jo suddenly realized what she said, and her cheeks flushed. She looked over and noticed Lt. Reece's arched eyebrows.

"Nothing yet?"

Maybe Lt. Reece was asking about Henry's memory. Jo sighed as she shifted her weight in an effort to become more comfortable. "He's remembering more than he was, but—"

"It's a start." Jo could see a compassion in her boss's eyes. "Something in whatever he is remembering should spark something."

She paused. "Is there anything else that you would like to share? You're glowing."

Jo's jaw dropped as she stared at her boss. Did Lt. Reece think that she and Henry—?

She smiled at the time that she spent with her boyfriend. _We're not dating yet, but Henry and I are boyfriend and girlfriend. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world_. "Nothing yet. If anything happens, you would be among the first to know." Lieu would probably figure out that they were dating before they would break the news to her.

Then again, Lieu already suspected that something was up.

The other woman nodded before sobering. "Titus' parents caught a red-eye. They're in the conference room."

Jo swallowed as her mindset mirrored her boss's. She had no idea of what to tell them.

* * *

Henry stared at Titus' body as if he could divine the answers that he sought from it. He was sure that he had seen this before, but—.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lucas hovering over his shoulder. "Nope, your eyes aren't deceiving you."

Apparently, Lucas was seeing the same thing. Henry turned to his assistant. "That's good to know."

He huffed as he placed his hands on the table. There were many known causes for what the lab had found, yet abnormal test results without normal postmortem changes occasionally indicated more benign circumstances. If only there was a way to distinguish between the causes.

He looked at back at the body. He didn't know the exact circumstances, but he _had_ seen this situation before. There was one distinction which only humans could make….

He faced Lucas again. "What did Titus' breath smell like when you had arrived at the scene?"

* * *

Jo walked into the conference room and introduced herself as she and Lt. Reece took their seats. Fatigue from their flight could not mask the sorrow in the middle-aged couple's eyes.

She inhaled as she prepared herself for their reaction. These types of cases haven't gotten any easier over the years. "Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth, I—."

"Detective Martinez, our son didn't kill himself." Mr. Forsyth tensed and grasped his wife's hand. "Titus valued all human life, even his own. There is no way that he could have even considered the idea."

Lt. Reece leaned forward. "We know. We're working on the theory that foul play was involved."

"Why didn't you tell us that over the phone on Friday?" Mrs. Forsyth snapped.

"Over the weekend, we have uncovered evidence which suggests that he was murdered."

The Forsyths glanced down and thought about it.

Jo shifted around in her seat. "Did Titus mention having any relationship issues?"

They shook their heads. "No, not to our knowledge."

"How about his relationship with his friends?"

Mrs. Forsyth inhaled. "He mostly kept to himself when he had just come here. He was bullied in school, and it had left him uneasy around others. Since he had been working with Dr. Hanson and Brent Watkins, he seemed to have come out of his shell."

Mr. Forsyth released his wife's hand. "He hadn't mentioned anything about any arguments. If anything, he talked about Dr. Hanson's support, having drinks with his fellow graduate students, and spending time with the people who arranged Brent's lectures, particularly a girl named Natalie Daly. He was interested in her, but he hadn't asked her out because he didn't want to ruin their friendship."

That was consistent with what everyone at Baruch College had told Mike and Henry.

"We know Titus was working for Brent and Gene Tomberlin. Did he have any trouble with either of them?"

"No. He got along with both of them. In a way, Titus idolized Brent, with his travels and the history of the places that he visited. He felt sorry for Gene because of the amount of pain that he was in and because of his lack of family and friends."

Jo remembered Gene's pain pills. "Had Titus noticed if Gene was taking more pills than usual?"

Mrs. Forsyth looked her in the eye. "According to Titus, Gene hated the way that he felt after he took them, so he was trying to eat right and exercise to lose the weight that he had gained since the Recession." She mirthlessly smiled. "He was enrolled in a yoga class a few blocks from his apartment. Titus told us that it was starting to help Gene's pain and that he wasn't taking as many pills as he had before."

Jo believed that she knew which studio Gene had gone to for his classes. She would check it out after she dropped Henry off at the shop. Hopefully….

Jo felt Lt. Reece's eyes boring into her. Any thought about Henry kissing her would have to wait.

Mrs. Forsyth swallowed and inhaled. "When Brent disappeared, our son and Gene had started to worry. A couple of days later, Titus went to the shop and discovered that it was still locked. He called Gene. When he couldn't get an answer, he called the police. They told him that they couldn't investigate until a family member reported him missing after 24 hours. After Titus mentioned Brent, they said that they would look into Brent's disappearance."

So, someone was trying to help Gene. Jo had wondered about that after she had read that his parents were deceased and that he was an only child.

"When was this?"

"About noon last Wednesday."

That was almost consistent with Henry's time of death for Gene.

Mrs. Forsyth's voice cracked. "We never thought that Titus would be next."

Jo gave them a moment. "Had anyone threatened them? Do you know if Brent or Gene had any enemies?"

Mr. Forsyth shook his head. "From what we could tell, everything was okay. If anyone had, neither man had mentioned anything to Titus about it." He looked at the two investigators. "Why are you asking us this?"

"We believe that Brent's and Gene's deaths are connected to Titus'."

Both parents' eyes widened, and Mrs. Forsyth gasped. "They're gone?"

Jo looked at Lt. Reece for guidance about how much to tell them. Fortunately, Lt. Reece nodded.

After a moment, Lt. Reece's eyes darted from parent to parent. "What were the shop's finances like?"

Mr. Forsyth cleared his throat. "As far as we know, they were doing quite well. A few weeks ago, Titus, Brent, and Gene were discussing moving into another building because of the amount of new inventory. Gene had met with Kenneth Lanham at NYC Business Realtors and asked him about larger retail spaces."

Jo and Lt. Reece looked at each other. They didn't expect a connection to William's murder. Had they found their suspect?

Jo turned back to them. "Did Titus ever mentioned a William Ashbrooke or an Oscar Cushing?"

"Who?" The Forsyths looked genuinely confused.

 _To answer my question, obviously not_. "We were ruling something out."

She straightened her posture. "You said that they had acquired a lot of new inventory. How?"

"Brent and Gene had gone to a couple of large estate sales in Midtown and Tribeca and to an antiques auction in Gramercy about two months ago. Titus remembered them talking about a friendly older gentleman who was easily distracted by glassware and furniture, a 'creepy' flirtatious Japanese-American woman who was fascinated with the weaponry, and two pretentious men who might step over a dead body to get to an antique."

Jo bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh. Their descriptions sounded exactly like Abe, The Frenchman, and the Berkowitz brothers. She made a mental note to find a copy of Brent's and Gene's DMV photos before she left the precinct later. She wasn't sure about Ray and Arty, but she knew that Abe and The Frenchman would help in the case.

"What did Kenneth say about the available properties?"

"He had agreed to show them some, but he was booked until the middle of April."

Based on her and Henry's visit last week, she had suspected that when she had walked through the office.

Suddenly, Jo heard an insistent, urgent pounding that threatened to break the conference room's window. She pushed her chair back and moved toward the door. She hadn't heard that sound in ages.

She opened the door. On the other side was Henry. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise at the sight of her. It took everything within her to keep herself from getting lost in his gorgeous brown eyes.

She stepped aside to let him into the room. Confusion instantly filled his face.

She could have kicked herself. He didn't remember this part of his role in their cases yet.

She caught his eyes and held his gaze. As she took a step back, she saw his defenses crumble, and he submissively entered the room. She smiled as she returned to her seat. For as long as they were together, she would never let him know that he was vulnerable to that.

Henry introduced himself and offered his condolences as he took a seat next to her and folded his hands. "Do you know if Titus had mentioned nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain, erratic heartbeat, dizziness, weakness, or anything of that nature during the last time that you had spoken to him?"

A look of recognition crossed Mrs. Forsyth's face. "Come to think about it, he did. He called home last Thursday and told us that he was a bit nauseous. He wanted to e-mail Dr. Hanson and let her know that he wouldn't be able to work on his research the next day. I told him to wait until morning to see if he would feel better. At that moment, he heard his friend Walt at the door and hung up."

The friend piqued Jo's interest. "Walt?"

Mr. Forsyth nodded. "His new colleague at the antiques shop. We don't know much about him, but Walt and Titus seemed to have hit it off." He chortled. "They both like disco music, food, and action films. Can you believe it?"

"Do you know his last name?"

The Forsyths shook their heads.

Mr. Forsyth looked Henry in the eye. "What is this about?"

Henry heaved a sigh. "Titus was exposed to high levels of arsenic trioxide shortly before his death. We found elevated levels of it in his urine, and my assistant had detected a faint garlic odor on his breath after the paramedics had pulled him out of the swimming pool."

Mrs. Forsyth gasped, and tears began to stream down her face. She leaned against her husband and sobbed into his shoulders. "I didn't…. How could I…? If only I…." Her voice broke with each syllable.

Henry leaned forward. "You couldn't have possibly known about it. In fact, I had almost missed it myself. Acute arsenic poisoning can manifest itself as acute erosive gastritis. Most doctors would have misdiagnosed his symptoms during an examination, and most medical examiners would have missed the postmortem changes during an autopsy if they did not suspect foul play."

Jo let them grieve for a minute. She mirrored Henry and laid her arms on the table. "Do you know if they were working on anything together outside of work? It could help Dr. Morgan determine the source of the arsenic."

The older couple hesitated for a moment. Mr. Forsyth straightened his back. "They were helping one of Walt's friends—we never caught his name—renovate this apartment at Columbia and Grand. A couple of weeks ago, they were replacing some pressure-treated flooring with spruce. They had to stop renovations because the apartment had caught fire."

Jo and Henry looked at each other. "Do you know if Titus had mentioned ever seeing Brent at the apartment?"

Mrs. Forsyth mirrored Jo's posture. "No, he didn't. According to Titus, Brent had cut back on his work at the shop because he was editing the new season of _Watkins' Journeys_ and preparing for a lecture at Baruch College."

Jo nodded. That was consistent with what Jeff, Karen, and Brent's colleagues at WNYL had mentioned. "Did Titus mention the cause of the fire?"

The couple glanced down at the table for a moment. "Unfortunately, no. Titus was teaching classes that day, and he read about it online the next morning."

Jo studied them. "Where does Walt live?"

"The West Village."

She slightly nodded. That information would be extremely helpful in finding him.

She almost forgot to ask something. "Where is the shop located?"

"Houston and Broadway. Gene walked to work every day."

Henry looked at the Forsyths. "Do you know how the extra wood was disposed?"

Mr. Forsyth studied Henry. "Titus said that Walt's friend knew of someone who would recycle it for them. I think that they had taken him up on the offer."

"Do you know what Titus had eaten during the past week?"

Henry asked them a few more questions. Once satisfied with their answers, the three investigators rose to leave the room.

Mr. Forsyth's eyes darted from Jo to Henry and back again. "Detective, Doctor, please find out who killed our son."

Jo looked them in the eyes and recognized the parental grief that ached for answers. Although she couldn't relate, Vicki Hulquist's murder had taught Jo about that. "We will."

The second that Jo stepped over the threshold, she looked at Henry. His distant look had turned into a confused one.

She stepped closer to him. All of her impulses stirred, but she quickly squelched them to keep her mind focused on his needs. She lowered her voice. "What?"

He noticed her and faced her. "I remember talking to you about the amount of sodium in a traditional Gascony duck confit and its effects on a dose of phenytoin. Why do I remember that?"

She could tell him about the investigation into Gloria Carlisle's death but not about his and Abigail's connection to her or about one of his poisonings after a similar meal in Gascony years ago. "I'll tell you about it later."

As he started to relax, she allowed herself to get lost in his gaze.

"Well?" Lt. Reece's voice broke her spell. "How long were you standing at the door?"

Henry looked at his unofficial boss. "I had just arrived. Mike had mentioned that you might be here when I tried to locate you so that I could give you my findings."

Jo stepped closer to Henry to let a couple of officers pass them. "So far, it seems as though money was the main motive for their murders. We need to talk to Walt. He might have noticed something that Titus had missed or had not known about."

Lieu eyed her. "I agree. You should bring up the threat to his life as well." She turned to Henry. "What about you?"

"The block of wood that I had found under Titus' accelerator indicates that his death was premeditated. Titus had eaten food that he did not prepare himself, and one of the dishes is the source of the arsenic trioxide. His killer had sprinkled arsenic either onto or in the food at any time from earlier that morning to four days before his death. Hoping that Titus would become ill, he planted the wood under the brakes to make it appear that Titus had committed suicide. Titus knew that he was having issues with his brakes, but since he didn't move his car from his parking space at Baruch College often, he thought that he had time to ask a mechanic to look at it. When the car crashed into the pool, the block dislodged itself from under the brakes and moved behind the accelerator."

Jo held his gaze to keep him from feeling confused by the development of his theory.

She was sure that she had never seen arsenic in stores. "Where would you get arsenic?"

"Most sources—herbal supplements and homeopathic treatments, the intravenous drug trisenox, PET isotopes, car batteries, vegetables growing in contaminated soil, gallium arsenide, fireworks, a pigment know as Paris green—have arsenic levels that are too low to be immediately fatal, are very difficult to obtain, or would contain other metals which would have been detected in the lab tests as well. Arsenic trioxide, however, is still available, but one would have to submit themselves to a background check before companies will sell it."

Jo hoped that his knowledge wasn't a faint memory of one of his experiments that chose to come back now. "We can get a list of the companies and see if anyone here in New York had purchased any within the last few weeks."

"How about all three deaths?" Lieu stepped closer to them so that the Forsyths wouldn't hear them.

"Three victims murdered using three different methods suggest that our suspect didn't want the police to connect the deaths to each other. He had used whatever was readily available to commit each murder. Unfortunately, I still don't know what had caused Gene's death. Lucas and I plan to go to his apartment tomorrow and see if we can find the murder weapon."

"What about Dr. Washington's backlog?"

"I asked Dr. Lippmann about it earlier this morning. He had said that I could continue to work on Brent's, Gene's, and Titus' deaths until I sign their death certificates."

After Lt. Reece dismissed them, Jo bit her lower lip in thought. They were finally making progress in all three cases. Now, she wondered what The Frenchman would say.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In case you are wondering, there have been a couple of cases in which victims of arsenic poisoning did not show the classic postmortem signs. I decided that it would be a perfect fit for the story.

I had wanted to use a name or a couple of names which authors here or over at Archive of Our Own had suggested for The Frenchman, but I didn't see anything other than The Frenchman. So, I gave her a name myself.


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note** : There are references to the Pilot, "The Pugilist Break", "The Frustrating Thing about Psychopaths", "The Ecstasy of Agony", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", and "Hitler on the Half-Shell".

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

Henry took one last look at the canister in the back seat before joining Jo at the crosswalk. If the Hodgkins map was as valuable as they believed it was, they could become a very tempting target for their killer.

Yet, he couldn't think about that at the moment. Right now, they must concentrate on determining whether Mr. and Mrs. Forsyth's assessment of the shop's finances was accurate. Jo had obtained a search warrant, and he had found a set of keys in Gene's suit. A visual inspection of the shop could provide even more clues.

"So," Jo's voice drifted into his thoughts. "How did you know about the sources of arsenic poisoning?" Her eyebrows knitted together with concern.

Her reaction puzzled him. Why would she be worried about knowledge that he had likely acquired from a textbook?

The question vanished from his thoughts the moment that his eyes met hers. "I don't know; it had just come to me. Perhaps it was something that I had learned for one of my forensic pathology classes."

Jo appeared unconvinced, but she slowly nodded. A moment later, she walked away from him. Hoping that he hadn't offended or upset her, he jogged to her side.

When he noticed the crossing signal in front of them and the traffic light to their left, he felt a blush warming his cheeks. He could have kicked himself. He was so distracted by her reaction to his explanation that he had forgotten about crossing the street.

They walked up to the door to the three-story building. Henry pulled the keys out of his pocket and quickly pushed Gene's apartment keys around the ring. He tried several keys before finally succeeding with the final one.

He took one look at Jo. Somehow, her presence beside him reminded him of a night where they had stood at another door. He could see her removing her bobby pin from her hair and using it to pick the lock. He had studied her intricate movements and had committed them and her mention about her father's criminal activities to memory.

He blinked, and the memory was gone. Did she teach him the skill without realizing it? If so, then it would explain how he knew how to pick the lock on Gene's door.

Remembering the purpose of the trip, he pushed the door open and let her enter the building first. Once he was inside, he looked around in astonishment at the familiar surroundings.

Jo chuckled. "This looks like your shop."

He smiled. "My thoughts exactly." The only differences which he could immediately see were posters hanging on the walls and a scant amount of furniture sitting on the shop's floor.

Upon closer inspection, he noted several dissimilarities. "The shop was well-visited." He surprised himself with the vocalization of his thoughts. "The waxed floor isn't as shiny, and there are many scruff marks along the footpaths." He pointed to a mostly empty wall. "Several posters have been sold recently. The sunlight had lightened the color of the walls where several have previously hung."

He ran a finger along a table as he walked deeper into the retail space. "There's a light layer of dust on the furniture, but that is to be expected given the amount of time between Gene's death and today."

The room suddenly brightened. He freed himself from his thoughts and observations and noticed Jo standing at a wall and removing her hand from a light switch.

She surveyed the room. "Ah! That's better."

"I could see everything perfectly." To his amazement, he wasn't offended by her opinion.

"Easy for you to say." A smile played on her lips in the most alluring way that made him want to walk over to her and take her into his arms. "You've camped out before."

Her surprising statement brought him back to reality. "That's nice to know."

He curiously studied her as she walked along the footpaths. He had assumed that he had always preferred urban life. He shrugged his shoulders. Perhaps he had spent a few nights outdoors when he had backpacked through Europe or when he was in the military.

He looked around the well-lit floor to keep his thoughts from venturing toward the more puzzling details about his life. Well-trafficked footpaths and disparately colored walls didn't signify financial success. As far as he knew, they could have moved some of the unsold inventory into storage. He longed for a way—.

His eyes landed on the desk near the door which likely led to the interior staircase. If Brent and Gene were anything like Abe—.

Henry looked at Jo and nodded his head toward the piece of furniture. "The store's invoices, receipts, and ledgers should be in the desk."

She mulled over his observation. Her eyes eventually met his. He reluctantly fought the urge to lose himself in her gorgeous brown eyes. "You know, I have never thought about where you and Abe keep the shop's financial documents. When we had searched your building, we had never bothered to look in his desk for any evidence of—."

As she realized that she might have spoken too much, his mind started to race. He was certain that her comment was connected to the feeling that, once before, Jo had been convinced that he was a suspect in another murder. What had led her to suspect him, and what were the police looking for?

They eased their way to the desk. As Jo opened the drawers, Henry scanned the well-organized desktop for any of the documents in question. He placed a hand on the stack of papers closest to him and began to lift the pile off the surface.

A ticket to an evening performance at the Lincoln Center on March 25 caught his attention. He pressed his lips together as he studied it. Neither of the shop's owners had been able to attend the production.

 _The Lincoln Center_. The name sounded familiar.

 _ **Lincoln Center Station, New York City, September 22, 2014**_

 _He sat in his seat, trying to gather the courage to ask the attractive Russian cellist out for drinks. She appeared impressed by his observations, and she looked as though she was interested in him. Both gave hope to the idea that she would find his company pleasurable. Nothing in her expression, however, indicated whether she would be receptive to the suggestion._

 _He heard the conductor call for the Lincoln Center stop. The cellist rose and looked down at him. "Perhaps you would like to come to the performance? Maybe afterwards, you could grab a drink?"_

 _He looked up and studied her. Her request was more than what he had hoped for. To see her in her milieu…_

 _He followed her to the middle of the stopped train to see her off and gazed into her eyes. "I would love to."_

 _The next moment, the crush of both glass and metal echoed around him, and he was suddenly thrown to the ground as the train shook._

 _He closed his eyes and groaned in pain as something pierced him. When he opened them again, he could see himself lying in the middle of the mangled car and a railway tie protruding from his chest. He could feel his life beginning to flow from him, and he sensed that he had only moments to live. He reached out for—._

 _ **Jammin' Pics, Broadway and Houston, New York City, Present-Day**_

The images suddenly faded, leaving Henry's eyes unfocused. He momentarily closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. That was the strangest memory that he had had yet.

He instinctively removed his hand from the stack of papers and laid it on the area where the object had pierced him. His eyes widened in stunned disbelief as he felt his heart beat under his palm.

He thought back to the sight of his scar this morning. Somehow, he was sure that the railway tie had not created the cicatrix. Yet, he couldn't see any signs of another wound.

How did he survive the accident?

"Henry, what is it?"

His head snapped toward a worried Jo. One look into her eyes, and he found himself unable to form any type of defense.

He inhaled and thought about everything that he had seen and heard so far. One incident appeared to fit what he remembered. "What happened during the subway crash that I've heard about?"

Jo wrinkled her eyebrows. "What?" Then, she bit her lower lip. "It's difficult to explain…."

"Jo," he pleaded. He needed to find out what had happened to him.

She inhaled, glanced down for a moment, and looked him in the eye. "Fourteen people and the conductor were killed when another train collided into theirs. We didn't know about it until about nine months later, but we learned that another person was in the same car as the others and that he had survived the crash."

He immediately knew who it was. "Me." His voice softened so much that it was hardly recognizable. "How?"

She took another deep breath and held his gaze. "We don't fully know what happened." Her voice softened as she sighed. "And neither do you."

He looked back down at his chest. Rescue workers must have cut him out of the wreckage and transported him to the hospital for surgery. Yet, the question remained: why didn't he see another scar in the location of his injury? And, given the nature of his injury, how did he make it to the hospital without dying, for that matter?

He looked back up at Jo. A smile and a twinkle in her eye illuminated her face. "If it helps, it was our first case."

 _What?!_ How did he recover so rapidly that he was able to return to work within hours, if not a couple of days, after the accident?

Jo leaned down and looked through the drawers that she had opened while he was in the past. She pulled out a couple of books similar to the ones that he and Abe had and waved them in the air. "I think I have something."

She passed the books to him. He opened one and vaguely noticed the same type of documentation that he had seen hours ago. "These appear to be Brent and Gene's financial documents." He quickly closed them and tucked them under his arm. He—or maybe Abe—would look at them later to determine the financial health of the shop.

As they continued to search the shop for additional evidence, the words "and neither do you" echoed in his head. Based on the comment, it appeared as though he had never known how he had survived the incident. Perhaps it was for the best. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Jo closed the door to her car and started to fasten her seatbelt. She looked over at Henry. His hand rested over his chin, and his elbow was propped against the window. The files that they had found laid in his lap. A distant look which at other times indicated that he was helplessly lost in the memory of a very violent death was in his eyes.

Her heart broke. She hadn't seen him this freaked since Adam had shot him with a high-powered rifle. How much of the death that had brought him into her life did he remember?

She took his hand into hers and squeezed it. He gradually became aware of his surroundings and turned to face her. His eyes were filled with equal parts fear and sadness, with a small amount of trust and a desire to talk edging their way into his expression.

It had been years since she had seen that look. "You do remember that you can always talk to me about it?"

He inhaled and slowly nodded. He looked down, noticed their hands, and studied them for a moment. He looked back up at her, and, as his eyes fixated on hers, he began to calm down.

A moment later, he inhaled. "It was so strange. One moment, I was accepting a date from another woman, and the next—." He sighed. "The next, I was in a mangled train car and feeling as though I was on the verge of death." He gave her a weak smile. "I'm alive, though, and I'm with you." He turned his hand over and returned her squeeze.

They quietly sat in the car until Henry broke his silence. "Do you think that Lt. Reece would mind if you took me back to the shop so I could ask Abe to examine the documents that we've found?"

Jo's heart suddenly clenched. As far as she knew, she hadn't heard him refer to the shop as home since he had regained consciousness.

She refocused her mind on the case. Lt. Reece had already given her permission to let Abe and Myron look at the books. It would give her the chance to ask Abe about Brent and Gene's presence at the antiques auction and the estate sales as well.

"Yeah, we could. We're not too far from the shop."

As she fastened her seatbelt and backed out of the spot, she took another look at Henry. She wanted to tell him that he had survived because he was immortal and that he still haven't gotten far in his research into why he was that way, but she couldn't. He had already rejected the idea of immortality, and any attempt to tell him the full truth about himself would result in the same push that he had given Lucas last week.

The strange thing was that, ironically, he was remembering more of that aspect of his life on his own in recent days. Hopefully, something would spark the memory of the moment that his life had changed forever soon. If not, she wasn't sure what they would do.

* * *

Henry secured the canister on his shoulder and closed the door. He was still a little unsettled by the memory of the crash, and verbalizing the story to Jo only made it seem more real. Yet, somehow, he could only think of the miraculous nature of his survival and spontaneous recovery.

He looked at the nondescript shop at 108 Reade. He could see himself entering the building several times before, and at least once at night.

He blinked several times and shook his head in amazement. If Abe ran their shop, then why was he coming to this location? Was each visit for a case, or did he engage in the acquisition of goods?

Somehow, that last thought made him think that the Morgan Shipping mentioned in one of his strange daydreams was involved in immoral and illegal activity. Was he a participant in it as well, or did he—?

The closure of Jo's door brought his focus back onto the task at hand. He quickly joined her side as they walked down the sidewalk toward the shop.

She turned to him. "That was Mike. He and Lieu have asked Dean Brewster to come in for questioning. Dean's on the way to the precinct now. Mike also confirmed that Kenneth Lanham had agreed to show Brent and Gene several potential locations for their new shop, but he hadn't set up an appointment yet."

Henry nodded. Perhaps Dean could provide them with a description of the man to whom he had sublet his apartment if he failed to identify Brent or Titus.

They arrived at the shop, and he held the door open for her. As he stepped inside, he looked around in confusion. Maces, swords, and axes were mounted on the walls while older-looking guns, handcuffs, and knives laid securely behind glass cases.

He swallowed. Maybe they were in the wrong place. This certainly did _not_ look like a print appraiser's shop.

He looked back at Jo. He suddenly knew that he had seen her expression once before –while he was handcuffed to a rod located about three feet above his head?

He faced the shop's interior again. Perhaps she had indirectly made a subtle point. It wouldn't hurt to ask this shop's proprietor about the map. After all, it was _his_ idea to come here.

He noticed a couple of men standing in one corner. Perhaps one of them was the owner.

"Excuse me. We're looking for The Frenchman."

The men spun around to look at him. He expected one of them to approach him and Jo.

"Henry." Henry stared as a familiar-looking Japanese-American woman emerged from behind the men and sauntered toward them. "What brings you here today? Did Abe tell you about the weapons that he had found in one of his friend's warehouses?"

 _Huh?_ He knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "I don't believe he has."

She excitedly stepped up to him. "He—." She instantly looked over at Jo and sobered. "Is Detective Martinez keeping a cute guy like you out of jail?"

He didn't know why, but he was growing nervous. He could also see himself standing in front of her as she made a similar comment about him and Abe. In the memory, he could hear himself thinking about the irony that he had spent many nights in jail because of his condition.

The canister hit his back and pulled him away from the question of what he meant by "condition". Remembering their mission, he removed the container's handle from his shoulder. "We were wondering if you knew anyone who specialized in lithographs and prints. Abe and I tried to authenticate this map ourselves, but we have no contacts who work in the field."

She led them to another corner of the shop. "What do you have?"

He opened the canister, gently pulled out the map, and unrolled it on the case where they had stopped. The Frenchman studied the document for a few minutes. "I would suggest that you should talk to the man who own Jammin' Pics and to Robert Plath. One of them should tell you more about it."

Jo reached into her pocket and removed two photographs. "We have just come from Jammin' Pics." She held out the pictures. "Are these the two men you're talking about?"

The Frenchman looked at them for a moment. "Yes. I see them at estate sales and auctions. What's going on?"

"They've been murdered, and we're looking into their deaths. Have you seen anyone threatening them?"

"Not to my knowledge. They seemed quite friendly." She tapped Brent's picture and looked at Henry. "This one kind of reminds me of you and your seemingly endless knowledge about the world." She thought for a moment. "I did overhear them argue with the Berkowitz brothers about posters on many occasions. Ray and Arty claim that posters are trash, but Brent and Gene are proving them wrong."

She chuckled. "At one estate sale, Abe was drooling over a couple of Bootleg posters that he wanted to buy for himself."

Henry resisted the temptation to express his surprise as he put the map back in the canister. He had assumed that his roommate had preferred only jazz, classical music, and opera. On second thought, the last two didn't seem to suit the other man.

Jo disappointedly nodded her confirmation of what a surprised and apologetic Abe had said when they had shown him the two photographs. He unfortunately couldn't provide any more information either, but he had eagerly volunteered to take the books to Myron for examination—after looking over them himself.

As Henry looked around the room to formulate a response, he remembered something. He pulled the drawing that he had made last week and showed it to the other woman. "Do you have any idea what would make this type of cut?"

The Frenchman took the paper from him and gave him a curious look. "I'm surprised at you. You usually know your weapons."

 _I do_? He bit his lower lip in thought. "I was in the hospital recently, and I'm still recovering from what had caused me to go there."

Jo's wide eyes reflecting in the glass case caught his attention. Apparently, he had never been this open with people before.

The Frenchman's eyes met his. "You should have told Abe to let me know about it. I could have brought you something to make you feel better."

Given the amount of nervousness that her comment was generating, he was glad that she hadn't come to his room for a visit when he had first regained consciousness. She would have terrified him if she had suddenly showed up.

Jo stepped closer to the case. "What is it?"

"It's a SA dagger. It—."

 _SA dagger_. "It was a custom-made weapon issued to members of the SA from 1933 until the end of World War II. The hilt, which was modeled after the historical Swiss dagger, was constructed from wood, which would break off if the dagger was used improperly." For some reason, he could see himself removing a blade with a fragment of a hilt from a wounded soldier in what looked like an Army field hospital.

The warmth of Jo's hand on his back distracted him from his questions. In fact, it was proving to be _quite_ pleasantly distracting. It was taking everything within him to not give into the temptation of seeing where his response to the gesture led.

"Still recovering?" The Frenchman raised her eyebrows while handing him the paper. "I think you're underestimating your ability to recover."

She studied the couple and sighed. "It looks like I might have lost a prospective beau." She thought for a moment and then smiled. "My door is always open in case you're interested in some interesting handcuffs."

Unsure of what to say, Henry felt his eyes widen, and he could see Jo opening and closing her mouth several times. "We'll think about it."

Jo shook The Frenchman's hand. "Thank you for your time."

"Anything to help you solve a case."

After they left the shop, Jo turned to him. "We could ask Walt about the map. He would know something."

"It seems as though Walt is the key to this entire mystery."

Before Henry could say anything else, his thoughts diverged to his own mystery. He wished that he knew what the key to it was. If he found it, perhaps it would unlock all of the secrets of his past.

* * *

Jo pulled into a parking spot about half a block down from the townhouse where Walt lived. Just as she unbuckled her seatbelt, her phone rang. She tapped it a couple of times and positioned it between them.

"Yeah, Mike?"

"Lieu and I had finished questioning Dean. He didn't recognize anyone from the store. Forensics is helping him make a composite sketch of who he talked to."

"We're at Walt's place now. Abe and Myron are working on the books."

"Good. Hopefully, we can get somewhere. I'll talk to you later."

Henry lifted the canister up to his seat and slung the handle over his shoulder. A moment later, he felt Jo's eyes on him. When he turned to her, her alluring smile absorbed all his attention.

He started to lean over…

…when the canister became caught on the gear shift.

He looked down, relocated the canister, and disappointedly leaned back. "Maybe we should focus on the investigation."

"Yeah." Her soft voice matched his disappointment at the ruined moment. "I guess we should."

They climbed out of the car and headed for the crosswalk. With each step, Henry reviewed what had happened at The Frenchman's shop. "You weren't jealous of The Frenchman's advances at me. Why?"

Jo smiled at him. "You have this certain charm that women like." She noticed his expression. "You've caught me with it."

He returned her smile. He wasn't going to let her go if he could help it.

He reluctantly fought the urge to wrap his arm around her or to hold her hand. They needed to maintain a sense of professionalism while on the clock. If it wasn't for her shift, he would ask her to join him and Abe for dinner again this evening.

They followed a few people leaving the curb. He moved closer to her. It would have to do until they could get some more time to themselves.

Suddenly, a car's engine roared over the sounds of the traffic. He turned toward the sound and noticed a tan sedan speeding toward them. Remembering his scare when he and Neil had carried the card table to Neil's apartment, Henry grabbed Jo by the shoulders.

"Henry! What are you doing?" She said defiantly as she stiffened.

He had little time to argue with her. He began to push her toward the curb. Her body instantly complied with his unspoken order, and she quickened her pace. Just as they stepped onto the sidewalk, her toe caught the concrete edge of the sidewalk, and she began to lean forward. He steadied her and helped her finish her step.

As the other car sped by and completed its turn, Henry quickly embraced Jo and pulled her toward him. Surprisingly, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm his racing heart. Once he sensed that the danger had past, he pulled back, placed his hands on her shoulders, and briefly looked her over.

"Are you okay?" The question felt rhetorical. His brief visual examination told him that she was physically unharmed, but her few heaves, her attempt to maintain a calm façade, and the fear in her eyes indicated that she wasn't.

She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the speeding car. "Yeah." She turned back to him, her eyes filled with equal parts shock and gratitude. "I will be."

The feeling that something similar had happened before was overwhelmed by his relief that they were still alive. He drew her closer to him and held her tightly as if his embrace would protect her from all harm.

He looked over her shoulder and toward the car's vanishing point. Who had wanted to kill them?

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In case you are wondering where I am getting the September 22, 2014, date for the train crash in the Pilot, I got it from Henry's reappearance table in "Fountain of Youth".

The reference to "the feeling that something similar had happened before"? Take your pick as to what Henry was subconsciously remembering. I'm noncommittal on that reference.


	32. Chapter 32

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry that I'm late in posting this chapter! The idea for another story .came to me, and I finished that one before the plot started to flow for this. I hope that you will enjoy the chapter.

I'm not going to use the episodic references from here on out. I'm getting to the point in my story where they might telegraph upcoming major plot twists. Since I don't want to spoil everyone, I thought that it is for the best.

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

They were lucky that a quick database check had uncovered that only one Walt—Walter Hunnicutt, a façade design engineer, age 26, no priors—lived in the West Village. Everything about his life seemed normal.

Why was she so nervous?

Jo took a deep breath as she and Henry neared Walt's townhouse. They had interviewed witnesses and suspects in their homes many times before. In most of those instances, everything went well. There was no reason to believe that this time would be any different.

Yet, their near-hit just moments before wasn't convincing her of that. Instead, it was bringing back memories of the few times that their visits hadn't gone as planned. More specifically, the memories of the incidents that had occurred during her and Henry's first year of working together—Hans Koehler, Mark Bentley in The Frenchman's home and shop, finding Henry at Audrey Griffin's residence—were coming back at an alarming rate, and she felt that there was nothing that she could do to stop them.

She suddenly felt a slight pressure on her lower back. Before she could object to it, the sensation began to comfort her. Wondering what was going on, she looked over and saw Henry walking as close to her as professionally possible.

She smiled as she enjoyed his hand on her back. "Thanks. I needed that."

He leaned over and lowered his voice. "Any time."

As he pulled his hand away from her, a wave of disappointment washed over her. She bit her lower lip in an effort to stop it. She knew that he was right. Now was the time to be professional. Later, when she would drop him off at the shop, they might be able to sneak in a personal moment before she needed to leave.

Walt's door caught her eye. As soon as she turned toward it, she noticed that it was slightly ajar. She reached behind her back and drew her weapon as she mounted the stairs. Even if he wasn't their suspect, she wasn't taking any chances. An apology was better than their lives.

"Henry, stay behind me." She inhaled. It had been years since she had last said that.

She lightly pressed against the door, and it easily swung open into a foyer much like her own. She cautiously stepped inside the building and walked toward the living room. To her relief, she could feel Henry right behind her.

The second that they entered the well-lit room, Jo began to look around. The room was filled with mismatched furniture. A game controller laid on top of a cabinet under the TV set. A set of shelves next to the cabinet held a library of action films on DVD. A couple of disco CDs, a notepad, several takeout containers, and a book on architecture littered the coffee table. On the sofa sat an unplugged laptop. If she didn't know any better, she would have mistaken it for a college dorm room.

They passed through the kitchen, stopping only to check the pantry and the downstairs bathroom. Satisfied that no one was there, she proceeded to the sunlit dining room. After checking under the table, she headed for the door leading to the basement.

As Jo opened it and climbed down the stairs, she realized why she was nervous earlier. During their first year of working together, she had believed that Henry was mortal like everyone else, and she had felt the need to protect him while they were out in the field. Once she discovered the truth, she learned to trust his instincts every time he wandered around a room or through a park. The pair still occasionally found themselves in trouble, and he had died a couple of times during an arrest. He, however, generally had managed to find a way to stay safe while satisfying his curiosity. Now…

She reached the bottom of the stairs, crossed the garage, and inspected the three small rooms to her left. To her relief, she didn't see anyone in them.

"Walt's a subway rider."

Henry's voice startled Jo. She took a deep breath to calm herself and then turn toward him. The sunlight streaming through the ribbon windows poorly lit the room. Yet, the sunbeams illuminated his hair and face as he walked along the walls.

She rolled her eyes. When did he leave her side?

A moment later, his words registered. She lowered her gun and looked around the empty garage. She couldn't see anything that suggested that Walt owned a car.

"How do you know that?" She hoped that her question would produce another memory for Henry.

"There's nothing here. No tire marks or stains from automotive fluids." He gestured toward the shelves. "No toolboxes or automotive fluids." A slightly distant look crossed his face as his last words left his mouth. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Why do I think that there's another purpose for automotive fluids?"

Jo's throat suddenly dried out. How could she explain the Orient Express and Armen Aronov's appendectomy to him?

Knowing that Henry needed a distraction, she caught his eyes and walked toward him. "Since Walt's house isn't within walking distance to the poster shop or the apartment at Central and Grand…"

"The subway is the only way to go."

Jo breathed a sigh of relief. They could cross Walt off of their list of suspects who had wanted to kill them.

Remembering the threat to the other man's life, she quickly sobered. They still had the rest of the house to check out. Hopefully, he had other hobbies or friends that they didn't know about, or he had gone out to buy groceries. She motioned for Henry to follow her. Again, he joined her as they walked back up the stairs.

Once they were halfway to the main floor, she felt him lean over her shoulder. "Your front door is red. Lucas and I discovered a paint chip that had come from it, and we inadvertently learned where you live when we were determining the chip's origin. Afterward, I returned to your house to see how you were doing. I remember us sitting outside on your doorsteps. You rested your head on my shoulder as I held you."

She stopped, and her eyes widened. "What brought that back?"

"Your familiarity with this house's layout in spite of the lighting."

Right. How could she not see that?

As she continued up the stairs, she struggled to keep her mind on their mission. That memory was always a bittersweet one for her—bitter because of the memories of losing Sean, sweet because of Henry's care for her. Even if Henry didn't fully recall the reason for his visit that night yet, Jo was overjoyed to discover that he had remembered the comfort that he had provided her then.

A few seconds later, they found themselves on the first floor landing. She inhaled as she turned and began another climb. She would come back to the second floor later. If anyone were here, they would be waiting for them on the third floor.

They continued until they reached the top floor. She cautiously opened the doors leading to each bedroom, bathroom, and closet. To her surprise, every room was empty.

Jo could hear Henry's footsteps echo behind her. "Don't you think it's strange that a young man in his mid-20s would live here alone? He wouldn't be able to afford it unless he had an inheritance."

She bit her lower lip in thought. He had a point. When she and Sean had started house hunting, she had protested about living in Washington Heights because of the prices and the distance from their workplaces. Eventually, he had convinced her that it would be a good place to live and to raise children if she was interested in them. After his death, the leftover life insurance payout and their savings were enough to pay off their remaining mortgage, allowing her to live in the house until the day she would decide to move out.

She sighed. She wouldn't be able to test Henry's theory until she returned to the precinct. Hopefully, records would start to work on it right away.

They preceded downstairs. Once on the second floor, Jo headed for the niche in the living room. She quickly peeked in and noticed that it was better furnished than the rooms upstairs. She turned her attention to the sitting room.

As she opened the door leading to the walk-in closet, she discovered a shadowy figure about Abe's height in the corner. She tightened her grip on her gun. Whoever it was would have to go through her if they wanted to escape.

When her eyes adjusted to the light, she rolled her eyes and lowered her gun. Like Mike's sons, Walt had piled everything that he owned into one corner.

"Jo!"

At the sound of Henry's voice, Jo's heart began to race. She sped toward her partner. Had he found their assailant—or even their suspect?

A moment later, she stepped into the bedroom. Henry was kneeling next to someone in the middle of the floor. Jo took a look at the unconscious person's face. She resisted the urge to gasp when she saw that it matched Walt's NYU student identification photo from seven years ago.

With his hands still over the victim's abdomen, Henry turned to her. Worry etched his face. "He's still alive."

* * *

Henry watched the officers and the CSU team as they worked around him. Fortunately, they were leaving him alone for the time being. Everyone whom he had spoken with had repeated the same questions about his activities throughout the day, the nature of his visit to the townhouse, his discovery of Walt, and the like. Although he knew that their questions were intended to elucidate his role in the day's events, it had felt as though the officers didn't believe that he was telling the truth.

He looked in the direction that the paramedics had wheeled Walt out of the room. A laceration to the spleen would mean certain death if not removed in time. He didn't know how deep the stab wound was, but, based on the paramedics' discussions amongst themselves and with the hospital, it did not appear to be immediately fatal. Optimistically, Walt would make it into surgery before any more blood was lost.

He swallowed to keep his emotions at bay. If everyone's assumptions about Walt's chances for survival were wrong, however, then he was to blame. If he hadn't taken a couple of minutes to satisfy his desire to kiss Jo or to mention his memory of her house, then maybe Walt would have had a few more minutes. Perhaps, with the extra time, he and Jo could have stopped Walt's assailant before he had attacked the young man.

Henry shook his head. He was being ridiculous. It was human nature for loved ones to long for an intimacy that transcended the types which occurred in daily life, and there was no shame in his and Jo's yearning for it. Moreover, if they had encountered Walt's attacker, either he or Jo—or all three of them—could have been hurt…or worse.

He looked down at the blood on his hands. At that moment, he could see himself being stabbed in the chest. He collapsed into his late wife's arms and apologized to her while she attempted to summon help. Once again, he could feel his life flowing from him as he told her that she wouldn't understand.

He chortled, and the scene suddenly faded. _She_ wouldn't understand? _He_ didn't understand what was happening to him. Two different memories of the same nature were suggesting that…

That was impossible. He couldn't possibly….

"Hey."

He turned around and noticed Jo walking toward him. Apparently, the officers had finished interviewing her as well.

He offered her a weak smile. He longed for her presence, but he wasn't in the mood to talk.

She caught his eye and wrinkled her forehead in concern. "What's wrong?"

He swallowed again. She had offered him a compassionate, listening ear, and she had believed his comments, no matter how irrational or implausible they had sounded. He, however, wasn't certain if he could—or should—tell her about his latest memory. The idea of his survival of a usually fatal stabbing in the 1940s was unbelievable to him. How insane would it sound to her?

He glanced over her shoulder. For some reason, he had the sudden feeling that they couldn't discuss it here. If someone were to overhear them…

She searched his eyes for the answers she needed.

He inhaled. "I have a lot on my mind, that's all."

As the words left his mouth, his stomach started churning. She deserved the truth…..

He abruptly saw them standing in a large room and heard her using nearly the same words to confront him about his desire to sabotage a case. He gave her an excuse of believing in a curse and wanting to protect her. Not believing him, she turned and set off toward the exit.

He lowered his eyes to the ground. So, it was his lies that had once driven them apart. Why did he feel that hiding the truth from her was worth the price of their relationship?

When he summoned the courage to look her in the eye, a sense of wonder overwhelmed him. Her eyes were filled with understanding and compassion, not the anger and betrayal that he had just seen in his memory.

She laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded toward the door. "Come on, I'll take you home."

She took his elbow and guided through the crowd and down the stairs. As they stepped onto the first floor landing, a familiar voice informed the officers guarding the scene that two members of the 11th were inside. A moment later, Mike pushed past the pair of officers and entered the foyer.

"I came as soon as I heard. What happened?"

Henry and Jo retold their story. This time, they added their theory that Walt had been stabbed a couple of minutes before his assailant had run into them. As they talked, Henry could see Mike commit every detail of their testimony to memory.

A moment later, Mike looked at Henry. "Did you see the license plate number?"

Henry closed his eyes as he tried to remember it. Alas, it wouldn't come.

His eyes opened and met Mike's. "I'm sorry. I didn't see it. I was more concerned for Jo at the moment."

The other detective placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We'll use the red light cameras to catch him." He glanced down at Henry's hands. "I have some water in my car that you can use to wash your hands."

Henry nodded in acknowledgement. It would feel good to remove Walt's blood from his hands.

He felt the canister resting against his back. He sighed. He had almost forgotten about the Hodgkins map.

He looked back up at Mike. "May I put the canister in your car? I believe that it would be safer in the police evidence room than it would be in my possession" _and it would keep us from becoming targets_.

Mike thought for a moment. "Yeah, sure."

Jo shifted her weight. "We'll find out about it tomorrow."

That sounded reasonable. Due to his surgery, they wouldn't be able to question Walt until Wednesday morning. In the meantime, it was getting late, and Robert Plath would be closing his shop by now.

As they stepped out into the setting sun's light, Henry bit his lower lip in thought. It didn't matter how insane his latest memories sounded. Jo _did_ deserve the truth, and hiding it would separate them once more. He should tell her about them while they returned to the shop. If the past was any indication, she would believe him once again. If not….

He sighed. He would cross that bridge if he came to it.

* * *

Jo studied the composite sketch that Dean had given them. She didn't know why, but the man's face looked vaguely familiar.

She lowered her eyes to the paperwork. Maybe a clue was in one of her folders.

"Detective?"

She noticed that the unfamiliar masculine voice belonged to a clerk holding a stack of folders. "Yes?"

"Here are the files that you have requested a week and a half ago. We haven't finished processing everything else yet, but the rest should be done by the end of the week."

Jo studied the man in disbelief. "You must be mistaken. I've already received those files."

"What do you mean?"

She inhaled to control her growing frustration. "Your department told my lieutenant that you sent them last week."

The clerk set the pile on the desk. "Well, I don't know who he or she had talked to, but we've just finished this stack." With that, he walked off.

Puzzled, Jo opened the files and checked them. Each folder caused her heart to pound harder in her chest.

She propelled herself out of her chair and toward Lt. Reece's office. She should have some answers.

"Hey!"

Her chest collided with Mike's elbow, stopping her in her tracks.

"What's going on?"

She mouthed her concern, and Mike edged closer to the desks to let her pass.

The second that she reached Lieu's office, she knocked on the door. The other woman glanced up from her work. She looked down at her desk, straightened some papers, and then folded her hands.

"Jo, what is it?"

Jo entered the room and closed the door. She stepped over to Lieu's desk and laid her hands on it. "Who did you talk to when you called records about our cases?"

"I don't know—."

"Please." Jo pleaded. "This can help with a different 'unsolved' case."

Lieu sighed after hearing the euphemism. "An Officer de los Rios."

A very cold chill ran down Jo's spine. "Was his first name Adam?"

"Yes. Why?"

Jo pulled out her cell phone and found her voicemail. "Do you have earbuds?"

Lieu reached into a drawer and pulled one out. "What? I enjoy listening to jazz on my mp3 player during my lunch break." She smiled. "I'm glad Ella Williams and Pepper Evans finally released '6 A.M.' under Pepper's name. The world deserves to know who the _real_ creator of the song is."

Jo plugged in the end while Lieu inserted the buds into her ears. A moment later, she played Adam's warning to stay away from Henry. She closed her eyes as she remembered receiving it days before he had shot Henry about this time last year.

As the message ended for a second time, Lt. Reece removed the buds and buried her face in her hand. A moment later, she pinched her thumb and index finger together and hissed, "I'm this close to that jerk. Why didn't I see it before?"

Jo studied her boss as she put her phone back into her pocket. "He's that good." They had his DNA, his fingerprints, a slew of arrest records for a naked man matching his description, a list of burner phone numbers which he had used to call them, and Henry's testimony in several cases, and they still couldn't arrest the psychopathic immortal and bring him to justice for any of his crimes. And Adam knew it.

Lieu sighed. "What do you think he's up to?"

 _Good question_. "Maybe he's leaving us 'gifts' to gain our favor before he makes his next move."

Lieu looked Jo in the eye. "Keep an eye on Henry. If Adam finds out about Henry's amnesia…"

Jo nodded. Adam's manipulation of a vulnerable Henry was the last thing that they needed. When she was en route to the shop, Henry had mentioned his partial memory of the day that Abigail had discovered his immortality and his full memory of the moment that he had mentioned his belief about Adam's _pugio_. He was baffled by his recollection of the events, and he had appeared conflicted as she had tried to comfort him. She could only imagine what could happen if Adam would try to "fill in" Henry's gaps.

As Jo left Lt. Reece's office, she began to fume. She couldn't believe that Adam had fooled them— _again_. He had lied to HR about his previous temporary employment at Bellevue, gotten himself hired, and was following their cases. He had used her organizational skills against her and made her look like she was incompetent. Not only that, but he wanted to use them to get away with whatever he planned to do to Henry next.

She took one look at her desk. She was sure that the older immortal wasn't responsible for the three unsolved murders, today's events, and Henry's carbon monoxide poisoning. She could question Adam about his discovery of the apartment fire and about the mysterious folders as soon as he returned from his vacation—if he returned. She just needed find a way to keep herself from tipping him off about her knowledge of his true identity.

She sighed as she thought about their cases. Their suspect had to be someone who was linked to their four victims and maybe Henry. Just who was it, and why was he—or she—targeting them?

When she arrived at her desk, she looked at the composite sketch peeking out from under the folders. Where had she seen that face before?

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Jo had mentioned Adam's voicemail to Lt. Reece after Henry told them about his death from a high-powered rifle's bullet. Lt. Reece had refused to listen to the message at the time as Henry's reaction was a higher priority. (Yeah, I finally give a general date for the incident!)


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Henry nervously surveyed the mostly-filled, dimly-lit theater and swallowed. Familiar faces begged for an acknowledgement, but he couldn't bring his eyes to meet theirs in a proper greeting. It wasn't that he was unsociable; he feared what would happen if others would to see him as he were. If they laid eyes on him, they would immediately discover that he was different and would treat him as such.

Two people sitting in an illuminated balcony box seat attracted his attention. The middle-aged man dressed in an alb and the young, brown-haired man wearing a white apron over his shirt and pants sighted him and nodded their recognition of his presence. Determined to avoid detection by the men's fellow theatergoers, Henry subtly mirrored their gesture before taking a seat next to an exit in the parterre.

He smoothed his wool waistcoat. He hadn't requested a seat at this performance. Fate had directed him to it. The reason why, he wasn't certain. All he knew was that he wanted to avoid whatever doom that would await him.

He sighed as he looked around the house. If he wanted to enjoy the performance, he needed to stop his morose thoughts.

Around him, various languages filled the air. He tried to listen to any specific conversation, but he was unable to concentrate on a single one at first. A woman's voice and a man's laugh finally drew Henry's focus. He watched as the beautiful blonde-haired woman and the dark-haired man sitting a couple of rows ahead of him held a private chat. She commented that she harbored fantasies of being a damsel in distress, and the other man promised her that he would take her to any city of her choice.

Grief struck Henry as he leaned back in his seat and fought his tears. Close relationships were what he longed for most in the world—more than wealth, fame, power, experiences…or even death. Yet, they had always seemed to be out of reach. The few times that he had drawn close to someone, something would happen, and he would find himself alone in the world again.

"I can't believe that they don't sell concessions here."

Lucas' voice rose above the growing audience and found its way to Henry. He looked up and observed Jo, Abe, Lucas, Lt. Reece, and Mike entering the house and finding a seat in the center of a well-lit section closer to the stage.

"You should have thought about eating before you left your apartment." Lt. Reece's stern voice almost sent a chill down Henry's spine.

"I know, but I was so busy editing one of my horror films that I lost track of time. I—."

"Lucas." Mike growled. "Shut up."

When they took their seats, Jo looked around the house. "Where's Henry? He said that he would meet us here."

"Knowing him, he got here early and probably went to the bathroom. Don't worry; he'll make it." Abe turned from Jo as he noticed another person in the room.

Henry followed Abe's gaze. Another lovely, blonde-haired woman—this one looking like his wife—sitting in a well-lit seat in front of the mezzanine waved at the man. Yet, Abe appeared unable to respond to her.

Henry smiled and started to rise from his seat. The production would be far more enjoyable if he watched it with the group. Fortunately, nothing on his ticket stated that he was assigned to a specific seat. According to it, he simply could not enter the filling balcony and mezzanine.

He spied the empty seat between Jo and Abe. It was almost as if they were reserving it for him. It would be perfect.

When he stepped into the aisle, a woman's scream pierced the air. Henry turned his attention toward the mostly empty stage. A dark-haired woman wearing a black bonnet and a démodé, cream-colored dress and a man dressed in a modern, black leather suit stood on either side of a pedestal with a skull resting on it. Henry froze in terror. What were they doing here?

The woman dropped an old-fashioned razor and applied pressure to her hand. The actor walked up to his co-star and examined the injury. "It's not bad, but you do need to see a medical professional before we start."

While Henry internally debated whether he should help her, he noticed his wife quickly moving toward the stage. With each step, her hair dulled into a gray color, and wrinkles crossed her face.

She stepped onto the stage. As she neared the podium, she hesitated and then raced toward the location where she had come from. The actor followed her, suddenly grabbed her from behind, and covered her mouth. She struggled against his grip until her body went limp in his arms.

"No!" Henry swallowed. He had never intended for anyone to get hurt. Especially not her.

He couldn't see what the man in black leather was doing to her. He, however, sensed that the other man would injure everyone else in the theater if he chose, and he would specifically target Henry's small group of friends.

Henry dashed down the aisle toward the stage. No one else needed to die today. If he must sacrifice his life for everyone's, he would.

The man in black reappeared onstage and locked eyes with him just as Henry stepped into the light. The other man's steely stare paralyzed him before he could take another step.

Without taking his eyes off Henry, the actor removed the skull from its pedestal. "Your life is over."

He threw the skull in Henry's direction. It transformed into a dagger aimed for Henry's heart.

As the dagger morphed into a bullet, Henry gasped, and his eyes flew open. His fear propelled him into a sitting position. Noticing his panting and his racing heart, he drew several deep breaths to get some desperately needed oxygen into his body.

He wiped his hands over his face and closed his eyes as though he could cause the scene to disappear. The man in black leather could be making his way toward the people whom he cared about. If something were to happen to them, and especially to Abe or Jo, he would never forgive himself.

The rattling of a radiator entered Henry's awareness, and, after taking another deep breath, he reluctantly surveyed his surroundings. He blinked several times in amazement as everything in his bedroom came into focus. The nightmare was so real. It felt as though he was living it.

The glow of the street lights caught his attention. What time was it?

He took Abe's wristwatch off the end table and noted the time. He sighed. He had four hours left before he needed to start his day.

He shook his head. He was feeling somewhat calmer now, but he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep easily. Perhaps some warm milk would help.

He removed his covers and headed for the kitchen. Who were the strange but familiar people in the theater? Who was the actress, and why did he feel a connection to her in spite of his fear of her? Why did the man whom he had bumped into at Baruch College appear on stage next to her? Why did the stranger kidnap his late wife? What happened to her that he didn't see? Why was he so afraid that the other man would hurt or even kill everyone?

He could see Karen, Donnie, Matt, Jeff, Tori, a woman who looked like an older version of Jo, a red-haired woman, and several familiar men—friends of Abe's, judging from snippets of their conversation with the red-headed woman—sitting in the shadows with him. Why weren't they with their family and friends? Why was the well-lit sections of the theater so sparsely populated? Why wasn't he afraid of the two men in the balcony? Why was he restricted to the parterre? And why was he frightened by the prospect of anyone seeing his true self?

He rubbed his tongue inside his mouth. In the dream, he wore a loose-fitting—about as loose as his t-shirt—long-sleeved shirt, a pair of boots, and—breeches? What was the strip of fabric tied around his neck? He wanted to say that it was a cravat, but he wasn't sure.

He stifled a growing laugh as he found a clean saucepot and placed it on the stove. Sideburns? When had he _ever_ worn them?

He removed the milk from the refrigerator, poured some into the pot, and sighed. The only real elements of his nightmare were his late wife, the five people whom he called family and friends, the people whom he had met since he had first regained consciousness, and the one performance that he had attended a week and a half ago. The rest of it were an amalgamation of people and circumstances from his past. His worries must have caused his unconscious mind to select them and had woven them into his nightmare.

Somehow, though, he wasn't convinced that the people and the situations were figments of his imagination. In his dream, he _knew_ everyone, but, in his wakefulness, he didn't know why. As for the circumstances…

He shook his head. He couldn't dwell on that. He needed rest.

He put the milk back into the refrigerator. He then turned to the cabinets and pulled out a mug. He opened the neighboring cabinet, and his hands automatically pulled out a small bottle, a bag of sugar, and a spice box.

He set them next to the stove and retrieved a spoon from a drawer. Without any thought, he measured the sugar and the vanilla extract and stirred them into the milk.

His eyes narrowed in confusion when he opened the spice box and scooped the powder out. If his memory served him correctly, the milk that Jo gave him was yellow-tinted, not brown. What did she use that gave the beverage its color?

"Dad?"

Henry startled at Abe's voice, and the spoon's contents spilled into the pot. He stared at the liquid and grimaced. It was too late to fix another cup of milk.

He reluctantly turned the stove on and collected the ingredients. "You can't sleep?"

"I had just stepped into the bathroom when I heard your door open. Are you okay?"

Henry shelved the sugar and vanilla extract, turned to his roommate, and sighed. "I had a nightmare. I'm making some warm milk to help me sleep." He chuckled and held out the spice box. "I'm trying to remember Jo's recipe, but I messed up."

Abe walked over to him, took the container out of his hand, and chuckled. "You got it right. Nutmeg's a part of her family's recipe—and ours. She uses turmeric powder in her own."

Henry let the "and ours" slip past him and studied his roommate. "How do you know that?" As the words left his mouth, he somehow knew the answer.

"I asked her last Friday while I was drinking the mug that she made for me."

Henry smiled as Abe put up the nutmeg. He must ask Jo for the rest of her recipe the first chance that he had. It was quite delicious, and, absent her presence in the apartment, making her recipe himself would be the best way to have it again.

As he watched the boiling milk, he placed his hands on either side of the stove. His stomach started to churn as he listened to the ticking clock's marking of time's march. He hated how late it was getting.

"What's wrong?"

He faced Abe. "In less than thirty-six hours, everything about my life will be gone, and I would remain this way until the day I die." He inhaled. "I'll never know why I continue to have visions of life in the past. I won't know why I have memories of cheating death twice" _once in the 1940s_ , "how I got my scar on my chest, or why I keep removing my clothes and heading for the river at times."

Abe crossed his arms and waved a hand in the air. "What do you mean by 'memories of cheating death'?"

Henry stared at the older man. For some peculiar reason, Abe had always appeared to believe his unusual daydreams. What if he wouldn't believe him this time?

Henry turned back to the stove. Admittedly, the other man's disbelief would be welcomed. Perhaps he could finally get some answers. "A railroad tie piercing me in the chest during a subway crash and being stabbed in the heart during a fistfight."

He huffed in frustration as he turned off the stove. Why did he so readily believed that the latter had occurred in a different era? "I must be going insane."

"Have you considered another possibility?"

Henry spun around. "Abe." He fought past the sudden urge to call Abe "Abraham" again. "You're asking me to believe the impossible!"

"And if it's not?"

Henry glared at his roommate. He had always assumed that Abe was a reasonable man. Why was he being so irrational in this case?

Realizing his milk would eventually cool, he poured the pot's steaming contents into the mug and set the pot into the sink. He shouldn't mention his unusual memories to Abe anymore. His roommate's belief that they were connected to the idea of immortality troubled him, and he didn't want to their differences in convictions to dissolve their relationship.

He could still talk to Jo about them. She hadn't voiced her opinion yet.

He sighed. Perhaps he shouldn't discuss them with her anymore either. When he had told her about the memory of being stabbed during their trip back to the shop, her efforts to reassure him of his memory's return had implied that he was, in fact, about 100 years old. He loved her, and he didn't want to break her heart if their argument about their beliefs would cause them to say things that they would regret.

He picked up the mug, held it in his hands, and inhaled the pungent but sweet aroma streaming out of it. He smiled. He could almost picture a young Jo Martinez drinking it when her nightmares and worries had kept her from sleeping.

He took a sip. To his pleasant surprise, the sweetness carried into the taste. He could see why it was apparently his recipe—and Abe's as well.

Henry looked at the liquid. Perhaps, one night, he would make some for Jo when she couldn't sleep.

"Were your memory issues bothering you at dinner tonight?" Abe's face reflected a concern for him.

Henry pulled his lips together and nodded. He had spent the meal partially listening to Abe's recount of his day. "That, and thinking about my namesake."

Abe raised his eyebrows. "Whoa, hold on! What?"

Henry inhaled. He hoped that what he was about to say next wouldn't lead to another argument.

"A man sharing my name and birth date. Well, not the precise date; he was born exactly two hundred years before I was."

He drank some more milk in an effort to prevent his thoughts about what else they would soon share. "I found a photograph of his tombstone online last week, and, tonight, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him." He had spontaneously remembered that Jo was a fan of _Pride and Prejudice_ during a conversation about books on the way back to the shop, and it had somehow reminded him of the other Henry Morgan. At first, Henry didn't think anything of it, but his questions about the man returned as the evening progressed. Before he had known it, he had tried to imagine what his namesake's life had been like years ago.

He narrowed his eyes and stared at a spot on the floor. Could that have sparked the nightmare? Was he attempting to put himself into the shoes of a man who had been dead for two centuries?

He gathered the courage to look Abe in the eye. The other man bit his lower lip in thought.

"What did you learn about him?"

"Just that the cemetery where he is buried is in London. I hadn't looked him up yet, but I plan to eventually." Maybe he would in a few days. He needed to concentrate on his and Jo's case and making another—he swallowed as he thought about the possibility of it being a final—attempt at regaining his full memory first.

 _Speaking of cases_ …. "What had you and Myron learned from the ledgers?" _In my dream, which one of Abe's friends was Myron?_

Abe's eyes lit up. "Aside from them having a couple of Bob Dylan and The Kinks posters that I would've liked to own?" He quickly sobered and sighed as Henry took a long draught. "I couldn't find anything unusual in them. Myron said that he would look at them tomorrow. He doesn't know when; he has a stream of clients coming in to file their taxes."

As Henry finished his beverage, he could feel his roommate's eyes on him. "What did you think of The Frenchman?"

Henry swallowed and nearly choked on the milk. "Why didn't you tell me that The Frenchman is one _very_ amorous woman who specializes in antique weapons and handcuffs?!"

Abe started to laugh. "And miss this? Consider it payback for all the times that you had an excuse for not seeing her about one of your cases." He placed a hand on one hip and shook a finger on his free hand. "I remember one time that you told me, and I quote, 'You have more luck than I do. You're both antique dealers'…."

Henry glanced down at his empty cup and furrowed his eyebrows. He could see himself talking about having his own share of creepiness to deal with and then opening a book which contained autopsy notes—in _his_ own handwriting—dating back to 1888. That couldn't be possible…. Was he...?

Abe caught his eye. "I hope that she didn't creep you out."

"She did." Henry pressed the forefinger and thumb of his free hand together. "Just a little. If Jo hadn't accompanied me…."

At that moment, the memories of Jo's hand resting on his back and of their more amorous moments allayed his worries. Henry smiled as he set his mug into the sink. Regardless of the circumstances lately, the thought of her frequently had been enough to improve his mood.

Abe threw his hand up. "Ah! I'm not going to ask what happened with you and Jo after you left here." He shifted his weight. "What did you learn about the map?"

Henry quickly filled Abe in on what he and Jo had discovered. A few minutes into his story, Henry felt the same wave of total relaxation that had overwhelmed him last week wash over him again. He yawned and looked at his roommate. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Good night…again."

Henry stifled a chuckle as he started toward the hallway. If Abe overslept, it would be fine with him. After what he had put the other man through tonight, he deserved the opportunity to sleep in.

As Henry neared his door, his mind drifted to the part of his dream where he wanted to take the seat between Jo and Abe and to the unexpected thoughts of wanting to help her sleep and of them being married one day. He grinned. Their relationship had just started in earnest, but it appeared that he was beginning to feel a yearning to spend the rest of his life with her.

He opened the door and headed for his bed. A sudden thought urging him to tell Abe and Jo about the more unusual memories and about his nightmare popped into his mind. He pushed it he sat down and sleepily gathered his covers. Their differences of opinion on the topic of immortality was enough to ruin either relationship, and it was the last thing that he wanted. If his past was any indication, he would be able to keep them a secret from them again, this time forever. He wasn't going to let anything—not even the impossible—jeopardize what he had.

* * *

Abe heard his father's door close and breathed a sigh of relief. Dad had finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

He stared at the dirty dishes. They could wait until morning.

He hurried to his bedroom as fast as his sciatica would allow him. With each step, his anger toward himself rose. He couldn't believe that he had called his father "Dad" instead of "Henry" again. After Dad's reaction last time, Abe had resolved not to use that name around the immortal until he could remember everything about his life. Yet, he slipped, and it seemed as though the older man was more upset now than he was then.

Once inside, he eased the door closed and huffed. That wasn't it. Even if he didn't actually remember dying, Dad's partial memories of two of his deaths were freaking him out. Abe's heart had clenched when he had heard his father assume that he was going insane, and he had found himself on the verge of telling Dad that he was immortal. Thankfully, he had stopped himself before the words came out.

Mulling over his father's next remarks, Abe opened his laptop on the end table and turned it on. Dad's comment about having a namesake bothered him. Based on his description of his online activities, it seemed as though he had discovered some information about himself.

Abe opened the web browser and quickly found last Thursday's history. He scrolled past the Wikipedia articles that Dad had read. Hopefully, everything else would be easy to find.

He clicked on the first link below the last article. He narrowed his eyes as a picture of a tombstone appeared on the screen. It was somewhat difficult to read the eroded etching on the granite, but the lettering was still visible.

He opened his mouth when he made out the inscription of Dad's name, birth date, and date of his first death. He couldn't believe that his father had found _that_.

Abe stared the second date. He had always suspected that Nora had erected a tombstone for Dad in the family cemetery, and Abe had once asked him whether he had seen it before. Dad replied that he had no idea if he had one. He struggled to remain calm as he remembered his first, and only, day on his family estate as an immortal. He had spotted Nora, dressed in mourning clothes, kneeling in front of a tombstone in the family cemetery, but he didn't see whom it had belonged to. He had planned to visit it later that day to discover whose grave it was, but Nora's disbelief at Dad's story had kept him from ever checking it out.

Remembering his mission, Abe dove back into his history and clicked on the next link. His eyes widened as he read the church baptismal record reading that a Henry Morgan was born to Robert and Elizabeth Morgan on September 19, 1779, in London, and he was baptized one week later. When Abe had traced his ancestry to Elizabeth's brother Dennis, he had clicked on the same link out of curiosity.

He took a second look at the names and chuckled. He still couldn't believe that he and his adoptive father were biological cousins. Maybe he could use that to explain their relationship if…

No. He wanted his father back.

Inhaling, Abe clicked on an mp3 file on another page. He quickly lowered the volume so Dad wouldn't wake up to it. The air soon became filled with the recording of PFC Hemecker's son telling the story of how a British doctor had sacrificed his life on D-Day for his father and his father's staunch belief that he had encountered the doctor again in New York City in 1957. Abe became engrossed in the story. The morning of their move, his parents had woken him up before dawn and told him to pack his suitcase. They had given him the basics when he had asked why, but Dad had never mentioned the name of the man who had recognized him or which battle they had been a part of—if any. Since that day, Abe had always wondered who had forced them to move out of the only other place that he was willing to call home.

After the recording ended, Abe went to the next site. He immediately recognized his father's unmistakable handwriting on his and Mom's Ellis Island records. For a moment, he could almost hear Mom telling him about their journey through the immigration station before heading to their first apartment in Brooklyn.

He took a deep breath to keep his emotions in check and himself focused onto his task. The next site contained a newspaper article. Abe smiled as he read how Dad had risked exposure to save a child from a raging inferno that had destroyed an entire London neighborhood in 1865. _Some things never change_.

He looked at the date under the mast head and nearly jumped. The article was likely the same one that had led Nora to Dad.

Birth date. Christening. First death. Nora's threat of publicly exposing him. D-Day. Ellis Island. Those were all major milestones in Dad's long life.

Couple them with his partial memories of dying, awakening, and living in the past….

Abe swallowed as he stared at Dad's picture. No wonder why he was so freaked. In spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, he still believed that he was mortal.

Tears began to well in Abe's eyes. He had always found comfort in knowing that, in a sense, his life would continue forever in Dad's stories about him and in his memories, thoughts, and, hopefully, habits and preferences. Yet….

He inhaled in an effort to regain control of his emotions. He had never expected that he would be the one to keep Dad's memory alive. After his death, Jo, Mike, Lucas, and Lt. Reece would likely to continue to preserve it for some time. If Dad still hadn't recovered his memory before their deaths, then no one would ever know the man they remembered.

Suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees, Abe lowered himself onto the bed. He picked up his father's pocket watch off the end table and affectionately but solemnly rubbed it. He would give anything to have his father back. To see him excitedly race to his basement lab in pursuit of a lead in one of his and Jo's cases. To hear him complain about the modern world. To play a game of chess with him, even if Dad would beat him almost every time or would take an eternity to make a move. To feel Dad kiss him on the top of his head while he was lost in thought. To see him check his pocket watch and grab his scarf before heading out for the day.

Abe blinked several times. He didn't realize that Dad hadn't done any of those things for the past two weeks.

He studied the golden timepiece in his hand. Fawn had suggested that he should put it somewhere where Dad would notice it since he had begun to remember again. Maybe seeing it again would spark some memories. It was worth a try.

Abe eased out of his bedroom and headed for the living room. For the past week, Dad had stood in front of the fireplace mantle for a few minutes every time that he was in the living room. It was almost as if he hoped that their picture was the key to everything.

The younger Morgan reached the fireplace and lovingly ran his finger over his mother's image. He wished that she was there with them. She would know what to do if their efforts failed.

He gently set the watch in front of the photo. It would be the perfect place for it.

Abe's fingers brushed his mother's urn as he removed his hand. Tears spilled onto his cheeks. If Dad didn't recover soon…

He wiped his eyes as his gaze turned to Dad's picture. For as long as he was alive, he would keep all three items together as a memorial to them. Jo would likely do the same after his death. After that…

He swallowed. Hopefully, Dad would regain his memory long before then.

He looked at the time. He needed to get back to bed. He couldn't stay up late like some old men he knew.

He took a look at the refrigerator as he walked to the kitchen. Warm milk with nutmeg sounded good. He should make some for himself.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The theater where Henry's nightmare is set is a mixture of several theaters that he has visited both in the past and in the modern day. The people who populate it are everyone from Henry's past, everyone we meet in the present day, and those whom he has met between 1x22 and this story. (Yes, he has met Jo's mother by this time, but that's a different story.)

Three notes about my head canon for the story: In it, Henry does tell James about his immortality. When Henry does and how James takes the news is another story.

Also, Adam and Nora have never met each other. According to Adam in "Skinny Dipper", he was in Vienna in the 1790s, and I'm assuming that he is somewhere else when Nora puts Henry in the asylums in 1815.

As for Henry's lack of knowledge about the "occupant" of the grave Nora had visited, she had a close relationship with her in-laws. Since Robert had been dead for about a year, Henry had assumed that the grave was his father's or another family member's—but not his.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

As far as he knew, this was the first time that he hated to come to work.

Henry sighed as the clock's ticks echoed in the nearby autopsy room. There was still quite a considerable amount of work that needed to be completed before he and Jo could close the three unsolved murders. He and Fire Marshall Gideons were meeting at the apartment at Columbia and Grand in a couple of hours to discuss the fatal fire. Furthermore, he and Lucas must determine the cause of Gene's death, and the solution to the mystery of the antiques dealer's demise could be hidden somewhere in his apartment.

Yet, everything felt as though they could wait. Henry longed to bolt out of the OCME's doors and to not return until tomorrow morning. Something in the city—he wasn't sure what—held the key to his past. Each minute that he spent at work was one less that could be used in an attempt to unlock his memory. If he didn't have his tasks, he would leave right then.

He rubbed his hands over his face. At the rate that he was going, he wouldn't be able to get _any_ work—memory or otherwise— done if he continued to focus on his problems.

Seeking a distraction, he picked up a stack of folders to his right. Just as he lifted them, his fingers slid over one file. He pulled the slick document out from its location in the pile and laid the rest of the folders down off to the side.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion when he recognized the copy of _The Explorers Club Journal_. Why didn't Lucas take it home with him the other day?

Henry stared at the publication for a minute. On the one hand, the picture of the sailing ship on the cover was enticing him to open it and peruse its pages. On the other hand, the magazine was his gift to his friend, and it felt wrong to treat it like it was his own.

He peered into the autopsy room. As far as he could tell, his assistant wasn't in yet. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to take a peek at the journal's contents. Lucas would never know about it.

Henry flipped it open and skimmed the first couple of pages. A couple of articles listed in the table of contents instantly appealed to him. He quickly memorized the page numbers and proceeded to the first one.

A few pages later, a splash of gray attracted his attention. He looked over and noticed the graphic of a wristwatch against a gray background. He started to turn the page, but one sentence prevented him from doing so.

"What would you do if you had all of the time in the world?"

He stared at the words. Why were they suddenly pricking something in his memory?

He inhaled, set his arms around the journal, and turned the words over in his mind. What would he do…?

He thought back to his first dream. The word "Paris" had jumped out at him while he had read an advertisement for one of the organization's guided tours, and his jaw had dropped when he had instantly recognized the iron structure from the dream. Maybe, one day, he would take Jo there, and they could get lost in the city. If their path lead to the tower, he could fulfill his dream and kiss her at its foot.

At that moment, he saw the two of them talking about getting lost in Paris while standing at his desk. He shook his head in joyous disbelief as the memory ended with Lucas interrupting them. How did that come back to him?

He smiled. If they did go, he could interpret everyone's conversations for her. If they had enough time before the trip, he could even teach her some basic phrases and help her practice them if she would like.

He bit his lower lip in thought. His knowledge of five languages had apparently originated in a love of learning them. Perhaps he could find another one to learn…or, knowing him, several more.

He turned to his books. He would love to read all of them and every book in the apartment above the shop. If he had eternity, he could read every book of interest in his public library as well.

The morning sun's rays bounced off the glossy page and nearly blinded him. He turned toward the window. The glints of light dancing on the river's waves instantly captivated him. In spite of the obvious danger of the water's swift current, he felt an attraction toward it—or to any body of water, for that matter. He would love to walk out of the office, find the closest safe water source, strip down to his boxers, and go for a swim.

A sharp tension in his neck and back pulled him out of his reverie. He blinked and shook his head while he turned back to the magazine. Before he could swim, he needed to finish conquering his fear of the water. The pleasurable activity would cause everyone a tremendous amount of pain if he panicked in the water and drowned.

With his heart sinking, he took a deep breath. He shouldn't be thinking in that manner.

The ad's question attracted his attention anew. Every plan sounded perfect. Once they were completed, however, his life would become empty once again. If there was something that he had innately known, it was that there was more to life than following one's wishes and desires.

He glanced down at his bare ring finger on his left hand. Before he had left the hospital, he had hoped to find the love of his life. Now, with each passing day, he was growing more certain that he might have found her in Jo. At the same time, it was obvious that she shared his affection for Abe—and, likewise, Abe for Jo. Perhaps she would become a part of their family, and they would welcome his and Jo's future children into it.

He thought back to his birth date. If he had all of the time in the world, he would be able to hold his grandchildren and great-grandchildren in his arms. He could impart the wisdom and knowledge that he had amassed over the years and to pass it on to his descendants. He would be able witness his family's legacy first-hand. He would also watch his friends' descendants fulfill their destinies, and he could tell them what their ancestors were like.

A twinge of sadness and guilt abruptly hit him. Not once did his thoughts include the idea of his family and friends sharing the gift that he would possess. Their future absence in his life reflected a selfish nature to his plans.

He sighed. If his family and friends couldn't join him in eternal life, then he was positive that he didn't want it. The only way that he might be able to tolerate such an existence would be if he could find a way to continue their memory after they would depart for another world.

Besides, it wouldn't matter if he was endowed with immortality; some things were out of his control. Every plan that included a future with Jo was contingent on her opinion about the matter. If she had similar dreams which included him, he would love to pursue them and see where they would lead. If not, then he would have to deal with the pain of her rejection of his intentions.

He closed his eyes as his mind flitted from ideas of marriage and family to travels around the world and back again. It appeared that his thoughts weren't letting go of him so easily.

When he opened his eyes again, he joyfully chuckled. For the past two weeks, his plans were focused on immediate survival. This was the first time that he had caught himself dreaming about the future. There was something liberating in imaging what it promised. He would do anything, give anything, to keep the exuberant feeling forever.

He glanced down at the journal. If he wanted to read the interesting articles, he should hurry. Lucas would arrive at any minute, and he might wonder why the magazine was in his possession.

Henry flipped through the pages until he spied the desired number. The moment that he lowered the covering page, he immediately recognized the steering wheel of _The Empress of Africa_.

"How do I possibly know that?" His words echoed Jo's as he suddenly saw himself standing in the middle of a warehouse. He avoided Jo's and Mike's gazes as he attempted to regain control of his emotions and to pull himself out of his past. He had never expected to see the warehouse's contents again, yet that part of his life were in full view of the two people who knew nothing about it.

He swallowed as the flash faded. The ancient ship—a slave ship—was connected to him.

 _Come on, Morgan. You haven't seen a sailing ship since you've regained consciousness—maybe ever. They existed only in the past. You're letting your imagination run away from you_.

He peered into the autopsy room. Perhaps he shouldn't be reading the article. In spite of his peaceful sleep after his warm milk, the memories of his nightmare and his argument with Abe had returned upon awakening, and they had lingered in his mind all morning. The article was making matters worse.

Yet, it still intrigued him. He inhaled and braced himself for what would come next.

A couple of sentences into the article, the names "Isaac Monroe" and "National Museum" jumped off the page and rapidly needled something in his mind. Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes. Jo had mentioned the National Museum before, but it now seemed to hold some significance to him as well…in more ways than one.

At the same time, he recognized the man identified as Mr. Monroe in the caption of the accompanying photograph. Henry took a deep breath. At least one more person in his nightmare was real. Did that mean…?

To distract himself from the forming questions, Henry delved into the article. A couple of paragraphs down the page, his eyes landed on the words "April 7, 1814". He knitted his eyebrows together. That date…

Anger toward his long-deceased namesake swelled within him. How could the man justify his participation in such an abominable practice? Was the lure of tainted riches so great that he was willing to sacrifice human lives and his principles for them? How could he not see—?

The same paragraph caught Henry's eye, and his anger subsided as the facts about slave revolts resurfaced in his mind. Generally, slave revolts were unsuccessful, resulting in the loss of lives and eventual slavery for the people aboard the ship. According to the article, one crew member had died during the successful one aboard _The Empress_. Was it possible that the other Henry Morgan was killed while freeing the slaves?

The modern Henry closed his eyes. Why was he linking his namesake's death to the revolt? And why did the story sound so familiar?

"Hey!"

His eyes flew open at the sound of Jo's voice. He quickly regained his bearings the second that he noticed her in the threshold. The article forgotten, he sheepishly closed the journal.

She sashayed to his desk, drawing his full attention as she sat down in a chair. "I came by to see how you are doing this morning."

He sighed. "I don't want to be here, to be honest with you. There's so much work to be done. I—."

She gently took his hands into hers. "When you finish with what you _need_ to do today, why don't you take the rest of the day off and use it to jog your memory?"

Henry rolled his tongue in his mouth. It was a tempting idea. Surely, Dr. Lippmann would fulfill the request if he phrased it in a way that would avoid arousing his boss' suspicions about his memory issues.

Still, even with the extra time…

He looked Jo in the eye. "What if my memory doesn't come back?"

The tiredness in Jo's eyes suggested that she had been pondering his question all night. She lowered her eyes for a moment, squeezed his hands, and inhaled. "We'll have to fill you in on a couple of things, but you have almost all of the information that you need to continue rebuilding your life."

He reviewed everything that he knew about himself so far. Did that mean…?

 _No_ ….

He sighed and pulled his hands away from hers. "Not you too." He almost didn't recognize his soft voice.

She wrinkled her eyebrows and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you insist that I'm over 100 years old?"

"What?" Her voice rapidly rose. "I've never said—."

He threw a finger up to stop her protest. "People don't live forever." Surprisingly, his voice matched hers. "Immortality, outside of a religious context, does not exist."

She huffed and glared at him. "Believe it or not, it does."

"Name one immortal." His sudden curt reply startled him, but a slight sense of—betrayal?—prevented him from acting on it.

At that moment, Lucas walked into the autopsy room, slung his lanyard over his lamp, and stashed his messenger bag under his desk. Henry rose from his seat and exchanged coats. If he wanted to take the rest of the day off, now would be an excellent opportunity to examine Gene's apartment.

"If you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He brushed past her and marched toward his assistant.

* * *

 _What—?!_

Jo blinked her eyes and shook her head. They had disagreements and arguments before, but she couldn't believe what had just happened. She wasn't sure what was more puzzling: his readiness to reveal his condition to the entire OCME or a surprising sense of betrayal in his eyes and voice because of it.

She took a deep breath as she watched Henry seize Lucas's shoulder and arm and escort the younger man out the door. Henry was a man of science. Of course he didn't believe in the supernatural. But why…?

She recalled their conversation from yesterday evening. He had expressed his surprise at the thought of him being alive in 1945. Not knowing what to say, she had reassured him that he would remember the rest of his life soon.

She swallowed. It was no wonder that he reacted the way that he did. She had implied that he was born in 1907. Combine that with her encouragement just then and what he had remembered so far… _Oh, no. Did I just…?_

Mike suddenly appeared in the room. He glanced back toward the hallway before turning to her with a raised eyebrow. "What happened between you and Doc?"

She stared at him. She wasn't sure what to think or to feel. All that she knew was that Henry wasn't the only one to worry about the permanence of his amnesia.

"You can tell me about it on the way to Robert Plath's shop."

 _Who?_

The canister's strap over Mike's shoulder caught Jo's attention and reminded her of the case. She numbly nodded and followed her partner to his car. Soon, they might have to tell Henry the truth about himself, whether he wanted to hear it or not. Hopefully, a talk with Mike would give her some insight into how to convince Henry that he was immortal.

* * *

"Ouch! When did you remember the time that we were thrown out of the Marquee?"

 _Huh?_

Henry dropped his hands, stared at Lucas, and sighed. He didn't realize that he was taking his frustrations with Jo out on the younger man. "I didn't intend to…"

"Do you mind telling me where we're going?"

Henry blinked several times. Echoes of his and Jo's argument had pushed his plans for the day out of his mind. "I thought that we could visit Gene's apartment before we proceed to our meeting with Fire Marshall Gideons."

Lucas slapped a hand on Henry's shoulder and nudged him toward another corridor. "In that case, we're parked this way."

"Why…?" A pair of medical examiners passing them stopped his question about Lucas' driving and his transportation choices. Once the hallway emptied, it suddenly occurred to him that this was the first time that he had travelled with his assistant since everything started.

Lucas' first question quickly returned. Henry hated the feeling of not being able to remember the moments that he shared with everyone. Sure, the memories weren't him, but his presence in their lives had meant something even to him. Soon…

" _Thrown out of the Marquee_ ". Why was that…?

"I don't remember what we were doing at the Marquee, but I high-fived you for the first time while we were leaving it."

Lucas slowed to a stop. His eyes widened, and his jaw fell open. Then, he grinned, threw his arms around Henry, and squeezed him.

Henry closed his eyes and winced in pain as the other man's arms tightened into a bone-crushing hug. "Lucas! You're breaking my neck!"

Lucas' quick release brought about a flood of relief in Henry's body. "That may have been one of the best nights of my life so far, but this…"

Henry smoothed his shirt. "A little propriety, please." As exhilarating as it was to have something else from their friendship return, Lucas' growing excitement might inadvertently disclose his amnesia to their colleagues. If that were to happen…

"This is great!" The young man blinked and sobered. "Yeah. Right. We need to…"

Lucas grabbed Henry's shoulder and guided him to their destination. As they stepped into a parking lot, Henry's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a small fleet of vans with the abbreviation "OCME" on the sides. Why didn't he notice one at Gene's apartment complex a week and a half ago? Perhaps he had been so focused on returning to the shop that he hadn't paid attention to his surroundings.

Lucas fished a set of keys out of his pocket. Henry bit his lower lip in thought. Thanks to a realization that he strangely didn't possess any form of identification and Abe's encouragement to go to the DMV's office, he had obtained a duplicate of his driver's license last Thursday. Maybe…

"Who's driving?" He eagerly reached out for the car keys.

Lucas snatched the keys out of his reach. "I'm not telling everyone what happened if we get lost today." He stepped away from the medical examiner. "Besides, I like my life. Jo will kill me after she kills you if…"

A sudden flash of a similar quarrel with Abe passed before Henry's eyes as the two men headed for a van near an aisle leading to the street. He shook his head. He wasn't sure which was more disturbing: Abe's "sorry, Dad" or his "I'm mortal". Both implied…

No. That wasn't possible. As he had told Jo, immortality didn't exist.

He sighed. Why was he beginning to consider the possibility that it did?

Henry inhaled. He needed to get a grip on himself before he snapped at someone and said something that he would later regret. His ego was not worth the price of his relationships.

A couple of steps later, they neared the back of one of the vans. The morning sun gleamed off the shiny surface and prevented Henry from seeing where Lucas was going. While Henry peered at the white and blue doors, a cold chill ran down his spine, his stomach churned, and his legs tensed. As he longed for some relief from a growing panic, he instinctively turned his gaze toward the aisle.

The office's name appeared out of the corner of his eye and called him back to his surroundings. He took a deep breath. He had entered those doors many times before both as an assistant medical examiner and in his current position. There was no reason to fear riding in the back if they were called to another death. Being in the back of the vehicle was as natural as breathing.

Then, why was he still experiencing a _very_ visceral response to the thought of it?

"You coming?"

Lucas' voice coming from inside the van snapped Henry out of his thoughts. He walked around the vehicle, opened the front passenger door, and climbed into the front. He resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. Lucas couldn't possibly understand the way that he felt.

The moment that he fastened his seatbelt, Lucas shifted the vehicle into gear. The van lurched forward, sending Henry toward the dashboard. He threw his arms in front of him, and his hands slammed into the panel. Wondering what had happened, he cautiously peeked over the dashboard. He exhaled while a car containing Dr. Lippmann passed them.

As Henry leaned back in his seat, he glared at his talkative traveling companion. If this was a preview of their trip, he should have insisted on driving. Lucas wasn't the only one who valued his life.

* * *

After an uneventful fifteen minutes in which Lucas related what he had remembered about being in Gene's apartment, the two men pulled up to the complex. As they climbed out of the vehicle and headed up the stairs, Henry sighed. Hopefully, his distressing thoughts wouldn't intrude on this part of their investigation. He needed to give the scene his full attention so that he could determine how Gene had died.

Once inside, Henry spied a woman at a door several feet away. "Excuse me. Can you tell us where the landlord's office is?"

She turned to them. "I'm the landlord. What do you want?"

Henry extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Henry Morgan, and this is my assistant, Lucas Wahl. We're with the OCME. We are currently investigating the death of one of your tenants, Gene Tomberlin, and we need to take another look at his apartment."

"Bea Perot. I thought that you've already examined it."

Henry inhaled at the memory. He hadn't, and Lucas was too ill to notice any vital clues. "A piece of evidence is casting some doubt on our findings, and we feel that the cause of his death could be in his apartment."

"Let me get a key." She unlocked the door, and, a couple of moments later, she returned with a full key ring.

She joined Henry's side and led them down the hallway. "You said Gene Tomberlin?"

Henry nodded.

"Gene was probably one of the best tenants that I have ever had. He always paid his rent on time, kept his apartment clean, and alerted me to something that needed to be fixed." Bea softly chuckled. "He even fixed any plumbing leaks himself." She took a deep breath. "He had been renting the apartment since 2005. For quite a while, I had been a little worried about him. He lost his family in March 2007, and he lost his job shortly after that. Going through one tragedy can be bad enough, but two about the same time? He acted depressed every time that I saw him."

Gene's demeanor didn't correspond with what Henry had heard about the man. "What happened?"

Bea opened a door and let them pass into the stairwell. "After he lost his job, he kept to himself. As far as I know, he spent his days in his apartment. Then, a couple of years ago, it seemed as though a switch had turned on his mind. He had met up with an old friend from college, and they became co-owners of a poster shop near here. He began talking to his neighbors again and leaving the apartment more often a week after that. I think he enrolled in a yoga class that same week."

That sounded more like Gene. "Did he mention having any personal conflicts with anyone?"

"Not to my knowledge. Then again, I didn't always see him. Every time that I did, though, he seemed quite happy."

The landing for Gene's floor soon came into view. The second that Henry's foot landed on the same step that Jo was on when he had first seen her, all lingering traces of anger and frustration toward her fled. It was impossible to remain upset with her. No matter how misguided her beliefs about immortality were, she was merely trying to help him. Perhaps he should apologize to her for his rude behavior the next time that he saw her.

They stepped onto the landing and walked to Gene's door. As Bea sorted through the keys, Henry and Lucas turned to each other, and Henry swallowed. Hopefully, they wouldn't succumb to whatever had sickened them the last time that they were here.

"I don't know why, but I left everything as I had found it. I just can't bring myself to clean it out and find another renter just yet." Bea's eyes darted from Henry to Lucas and back again. "Let me know if you have any more questions. I'll be somewhere in the building." The young woman pivoted and headed toward the stairwell.

Henry reached into his pocket, slipped on a pair of gloves, and gestured toward the door. "Well, shall we?"

A slight nip in the air of the semi-lit living room greeted the men. Henry immediately found the light switch and flipped it. Judging from the room's appearance, the CSU team had left everything relatively untouched as well. The only thing that he could see as a thick layer of dust on the furniture.

He stepped into the kitchen. His eyes narrowed in confusion at the immaculate room. The man either preferred a tidy kitchen before leaving for the day or ate elsewhere.

Henry opened the doors to the refrigerator. He wrinkled his nose and blinked several times as a horrendous stench emanated from the appliance. He turned away for a quick breath of fresh air. When he turned around, he observed some rotting fruits and vegetables, a carton of milk, another carton of eggs, a few filets of salmon, a package of kelp, and a couple of containers of leftovers. A quick check of the pantry revealed a bag of rice, a bag of granola, and a loaf of multi-grain bread.

He closed the last pantry door. Titus was correct in his observation of Gene's eating habits.

Henry headed to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Other than a bottle of Tylenol, a bottle of aftershave, and a tube of toothpaste, he couldn't see anything else in it.

He sighed. Out of the three unsolved cases, Gene's death had been the most baffling. The poster dealer's body presented signs that were indicative of several known causes of death, including arsenic poisoning and drug overdose. The absence of signs found only in those who used opioids, both legally and illegally, had convinced Henry that Gene hadn't died of a drug overdose. Based on the number of sources, he would argue that a gradual accumulation of arsenic in the blood had caused the man's death, but the levels found in each food were too low to cause a fatality. In either case, it appeared as though the toxicology report would refute both theories.

However, the lack of other significant pieces of forensic evidence puzzled him. From what they could tell, with the exception of a couple of herniated discs and some excessive weight, Gene was quite healthy for his age. Henry wasn't convinced that the man's time had simply run out. Proving that the death was a murder was becoming quite difficult.

"What are you thinking?"

Henry joined Lucas in the bedroom. "I don't know yet. He was going to a meeting the morning of his death." _How do I know that?_

He looked down at the spot where he had discovered the man's body. He closed his eyes and tried to remember every detail of that moment. "When I had found him, he was lying supine on the floor, and the door was locked. His attacker had come in, knocked him to the ground, and then locked the door as he left." Oddly enough, they couldn't find any evidence suggesting that the theory was right.

He started to pace. A moment later, he spied a photograph of a young Gene and his parents standing in front of an orange grove in California. Judging from their clothes, hands, and posture, his father worked in the groves as a harvester while his mother was a housewife. Their smiling faces indicated that, at least in regards to his family life, Gene's childhood was quite carefree.

"His peers at school ostracized him, leaving him with a scar that could never be healed. He moved here to reinvent himself once he had come of age. While he was in college, Brent became one of the few people whom he trusted. He later found his significance in his family and in his job. Once they were gone, he had become a shell of himself." _Why does that sound so familiar?_ "Reuniting with Brent and opening the poster shop had given Gene a renewed sense of purpose."

A second picture, a casual company picnic, caught Henry's eye. He walked up to the drawers, picked up the photo, and studied it. He quickly identified Gene sitting in the bottom row near the center of the image. Henry tilted his head. The man seated on Gene's right was vaguely familiar. Where had he met him before? He sighed in frustration and placed the picture frame back on the drawers.

He opened the closet and noticed a mix of casual and business attire. Just as he reached out to inspect the suits, his foot kicked something. Puzzled, he squatted down and noticed a can of paint stripper, a couple of cans of paint, and a paint brush near the door. He knitted his eyebrows together. Why would Gene store the items here? And why…?

" _Daddy, why did we have to turn off the radiator?"_

 _Henry closed the can of paint stripper and turned toward the voice. His eight-year-old son wrapped his thinly-clothed arms around himself to ward off the late fall's chill coming in through an open window._

" _The paint and the paint stripper can start a fire if we left it on." He smiled. "Why don't you put on a coat? It will keep you warm while we're painting."_

 _His son stared at him. "Wouldn't Mommy get mad at me if I got some paint on it?"_

 _Henry leaned forward. "If she does, I will take full responsibility. I promise."_

" _Okay." The boy scrambled to his feet and ran for his bedroom._

 _Henry chuckled as he reopened the can and applied some of its contents to the radiator. Because of the odd hours that he was keeping at the hospital as of late, moments like this had become rare. He would have preferred for them to do some other activity together, but, right now, this would have to do. Then again, he cherished every moment with his son, and he wouldn't trade even this time together for anything._

Henry's eyes misted as the memory ended. He and his wife had a son. Not one of his flesh and blood as demonstrated by the boy's physical appearance, but a son nevertheless.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. If he was in his early 40s, the boy should be a teenager now. If he was in his 50s as he had surmised from Abe's vague answers at breakfast the other day, then his son was a young man by now. If the latter were true, then why hadn't he heard from his son recently? What happened between them?

He swallowed and fought back tears as he remembered the urn sitting on the mantle. Was it possible that his son had preceded him in death? Did mother and child die at the same time? Was that why…?

"What is paint doing in Gene's closet?"

Henry turned to his assistant and rose from his spot. "He had planned to use it to cover his radiator."

"Really? I didn't know that you could do that."

Henry closed the door. "You can if you are careful. You first…" He stopped himself the moment that he heard his tone. He was sounding like a father.

He swallowed and gazed at the ground. He didn't want Lucas to assume that he was older than he appeared. It would only fuel the young man's belief about immortality. "From the looks of things, Bea had approved of Gene's intent."

He looked back at the man's bed. According to Lucas, he, Mike, and several members of the CSU team closest to the bedroom had become ill—just like he did when he had entered the room. Given that he and Lucas had remained unaffected while they had examined Gene's body, he could rule out decomposition as the source.

He bit his lower lip in thought. Inspired by an idea, he marched to the water heater and examined it. He sighed. The appliance was in working order. He went to the next appliance and inspected it. Just like before, it showed no signs of defects.

Baffled, he looked around the living room after completing the last inspection of the appliances, vents, and flues. None of the appliances were broken, and none of the flues and vents were blocked. At the same time, there were no reports of a gas leak in the apartment complex the next day.

He wrinkled his eyebrows. They needed to talk to Bea again. Perhaps she could provide them some more insight into that day.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Henry tossing Abe's car keys into the air and Abe catching them in "The Night in Question" inspired Lucas' reaction to Henry's eager "Who's driving?" in this chapter. As for the backstory for everyone not wanting Henry to drive, Abe told them why Henry had stopped driving, and the rest of the team will not allow him in the driver's seat unless he's conducting a re-enactment or unless they can't drive for some reason. Henry has driven a couple of times between the end of 1x22 and this story, and everyone, including a certain immortal, made it to their destination safely.

In the italicized flashback, yes, that is an eight-year-old Abraham Morgan helping his father.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

Jo took a deep breath as she and Mike pulled into a parking spot a block from Robert Plath's shop in the East Village. It was amazing what a talk with her other partner had done. She still didn't know what to do to convince Henry that he was immortal, but at least sharing her thoughts with someone was cathartic. Learning that someone else shared her feelings about the situation felt even better.

She looked over the roof. Mike slung the canister's handle over his shoulder before closing his door. He had been quiet for the past few blocks. For as long as she knew him, he was practically taciturn when he was worried about something, and the length of his silence was starting to bother her.

His eyes met hers. "I've been thinking."

"What?" She joined him on the other side of the car.

"Maybe we should stage an intervention for Doc tonight at the shop. You know, ask him to go into more detail about the stuff that he does remember. Show him the photo that you had found in the abandoned subway tunnel a few years ago. We could tell him a few of our cases. I can bring my laptop so that we can re-watch the YouTube video of the elevator ride that you took. You never know; something just might spur his memory back into existence."

Jo bit her lower lip in thought. It _was_ a good idea. "I need to ask Abe if he has any plans for the night. He might have the same idea. We can tell Lucas as well." She could call Abe and text Lucas after they would leave the shop.

"Do we have to invite Lucas?" Mike gave her a mock pleading look.

"Would you…?" A chuckle escaped from her lips, and she rolled her eyes. It was a good thing that he was only joking, or she would never hear the end of it.

She turned her attention to the storefronts and quickly found the poster shop. Upon entering, she surveyed the retail space. It looked more like an art gallery than any antiques shop that she had ever seen. She noticed one well-preserved poster near the door and located the date. She could almost see it hanging in Henry's apartment years ago.

Mike's presence at her side reminded her of their task. In the corner, she spotted two men completely engrossed in their conversation.

"Robert Plath?"

Both men turned at the sound of her voice, but only one took a sudden intense interest in his guests. "How can I help you?"

They met each other in the middle of the floor. "Detectives Jo Martinez and Mike Hanson of the NYPD. We're investigating a couple of murders, and we would like your opinion on a piece of evidence."

Robert extended a hand. "Please, it's Bob. The Frenchman is the only one who ever calls me 'Robert'." He shuddered at the mention of the woman. He then nodded toward his mustachioed friend. "Clive is trying to talk me into joining him on tour with _Antiques Roadshow_ in a few weeks."

Jo smiled. If Henry and Abe watched TV, they would be into it. If Henry found something that he had once owned and reluctantly had to leave behind, he might use the show to track down the owner and offer to buy the object from them. Knowing Abe…

Robert's eyes darted from one investigator to the other. "What do you have?"

Mike lifted the canister's handle over his head and handed Bob the container. The black-haired, well-dressed dealer opened it, removed the poster, and unrolled it. His jaw dropped open at the sight of it. "A 1783 John Hodgkins map of New York," he muttered. He looked back at them. "I have only heard of these, but I've never seen one before. May I?"

Jo nodded. Bob gingerly carried the map over to Clive and laid it onto a table near their original location. The two men huddled over the table as they studied the document. From what she could hear of their intense, hushed discussion, both men were positive that the document wasn't an original lithograph like Abe and Henry had thought. Hearing the words "provenance" and "reproduction", however, made Jo brace herself for the possibility that someone would kill for a worthless document.

She kept her eyes trained on them. Due to The Frenchman's trust of the man, Bob wasn't a suspect. Yet, she had been around Henry and Abe enough to know that dealers could lie about the nature of the antiques to sell them or to obtain them for resale. If she had any doubts about their findings, she needed to go online and see if she could find someone who would offer her a second opinion.

"Detectives?" Bob excitedly motioned for them to join them.

He grinned as they approached the table. "This is an absolutely authentic engraved map."

Mike arched an eyebrow. "Really? How can you tell?"

Bob pointed to the map. "In engravings, we usually see thick lines, ridges in the artwork, full margins, and a depression on the paper where an ink-filled copper plate had been pressed down on it." His voice became more animated as he gave her his loupe. "This map contains all of that." He happily sighed. "It gets even better. This is printed on rag-based wove paper. Printers in England used it from the 1780s until the mid-1800s, when wood-based paper became more dominate."

Jo accepted the small magnifying class and examined the document herself. Sure enough, the map wasn't like the ones that she had seen in the display racks of convenience stores and _bodegas_. In a way, this one reminded her of the back of a one-dollar bill.

Mike whistled while Jo stared at the document. If she was right, the map was very valuable…and an excellent motive for murder.

"When was this produced?"

Clive leaned over the table, taking great care to not touch the map. "I would say between 1785 and 1793. When Hodgkins returned to London after the American Revolution, he set up his own printing company. Many merchants and shipping companies, as well as _The Gentleman's Magazine_ and several painters, were among his clients."

Jo nodded. It made sense.

Clive passed the loupe to Mike. "John Hodgkins' maps are quite desirable. Two similar maps dating to 1781 had come up at auction a couple of years ago and sold for between $5,000 and $10,000. I would say that this would fetch a higher price, maybe $20,000-$30,000. If someone buys it, they could insure it for $50,000."

Bob propped himself against the table. "Where did you find this? It's in exquisite condition."

Without revealing any potentially incriminating information, Jo quickly related how they had discovered the map. A moment later, she produced Brent's and Gene's photos. "Do you recognize either of these men?"

Bob took the pictures and studied them. "What happened to Brent and Gene?" He swallowed. "Are they…?"

"Yes. What can you tell us about them?"

Bob reached behind his head. "Both men seemed quite friendly. They would talk to everyone at estate sales and auctions. They would even talk to this elderly gentleman who frequents the events and buys Georgian and Regency-era furniture and pottery." He waved Gene's photo in the air. "Gene came to me for advice after they had sold a genuine Rembrandt print. I told him everything that I know about the subject."

"Did you ever argue over a poster or lithograph?"

"No. Yes, they were always competitive at auctions, but we all are. At sales, they would find something of interest to me and mention it when they had a minute." He handed the photos back to Jo. "I don't know who would kill them."

Jo asked them a couple of more questions, thanked them, and left the shop with Mike. While she walked, she bit her lower lip. Brent, Titus, and Gene's killer and Walt's attacker had to have a connection to the men. As far as she knew, she couldn't see any. The men lived in different parts of town and used different services. Titus and Walt were renovating an apartment several blocks from Gene's residence, but that didn't explain why Brent would be in the neighborhood. The only thing that linked them was their shop.

"Jo!"

She stopped and realized that she was at the tailgate. Embarrassed, she walked back toward the door. She was so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed her surroundings.

Mike arched an eyebrow. "You've heard of _The Gentleman's Magazine_?"

"Yeah, from Henry." Henry had once said that it was a combination of a news magazine, a tabloid, the vital records department of any state, _Readers' Digest_ , and a literary magazine. When he was younger, he and his family had read it to keep up-to-date on London's social scene and to see if "any unruly members of the Morgan family were featured in it for unsavory reasons." After he had become immortal, he had feared that one of his deaths or awakenings would be published in it for everyone to read about.

She climbed into the car and sighed. If they didn't hurry, Henry would lose that part of his life forever.

She suddenly remembered her and Mike's conversation. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Abe's number. There was an excellent chance that Abe and Lucas would go along with their plan. The only question was: once they got started, would Henry accept the truth about himself? If not, then what?

* * *

Henry briefly glanced at Abe' wristwatch and breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid that Bea's statement and the traffic would cause them run late. Yet, with the light flow, he and Lucas had made it to their meeting almost on time.

Upon leaving the van, he looked up at the building. Black soot traced the path of the flames which had sought their freedom from the five-story brick building. A pair of outstretched tarps occupied the spot where glass windows once existed. Evenly spaced orange signs shone like candles in the darkened first-floor windows.

An average-built man with black hair leaned against a red car decorated with the FDNY's emblem. He turned around and eyed the pair as they walked over to meet him.

"Dr. Morgan, I presume?"

Henry held out his hand. "Marshal Vince Gideons, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hope that we haven't kept you waiting."

The marshal chuckled as he released Henry's hand. "I just got here myself." He swallowed in an effort to restrain himself. "I keep thinking about the man who died here."

"The fire didn't cause his death. He was murdered before it started." Somehow, he didn't feel guilty for blurting out their findings so far. Perhaps he intuitively knew that it was a part of his job.

Vince's eyes widened. "I know that the NYPD is treating it as a suspicious death, but I didn't realize that it had turned into a murder investigation." His eyes darted for a moment. "This could change everything."

"Arson?" Covering up a crime was one of the six reasons someone would set fire to a building or a vehicle.

He blinked. Why could he suddenly see himself bending over a burnt car, swabbing the victim's nose for evidence, and stating that the arson didn't destroy every trace of physical evidence of the victim's murder?

"Did you receive the files that I sent you?"

Henry snapped out of his thoughts. "I have. Between them and what Detective Martinez had told me about her conversation with you, I have an excellent idea of the sequence of events. I do have some questions that I would like to answer."

He willed himself to remain calm. His interest wasn't entirely professional. He was anxious to see his last known whereabouts before his discovery at East River Park. Possibly something in the complex would not only answer the questions concerning his survival of—and, now, his involvement in—the fire but also jog his memory.

Vince opened his trunk and offered two helmets. "I don't want either of you to die on my watch. I don't think that I would be able to take it."

Henry watched and then mirrored the other man's actions. Once satisfied with the helmet's fit on his head, he quickly join Vince's side.

"This building's condemned?" Lucas stared at the complex and then at them. "It didn't seem like it was that badly damaged when I was here examining the scene and collecting Brent's body."

Henry nodded toward the young man. "This is Mr. Wahl, my assistant."

Vince noticed Lucas and smiled. "I thought that I recognized you. You had first arrived while I was talking to witnesses and trying to track down the owner. I think that you left before I could talk to you about what you've discovered."

He sighed and let the men into the building. "To answer your question, I didn't think so either. The owner, Eric Rowell, called a structural engineer the same day that I allowed the NYPD into the building to obtain Mr. Rowell's records. The engineer discovered that the fire had weakened the wooden floors and roofs of the apartments above and below the affected units. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be an issue, but the building's age prevents any significant renovations beyond an interior remodeling. The only thing that he could recommend was demolition."

Henry nodded. "What had been your leading theory about the fire?"

"Admittedly, in the empty apartment, stupidity. Mr. Rowell had mentioned that someone was remodeling both apartments. I figured that someone had laid a pile of dirty rags against the water heater, and they caught fire. I have no idea how the fire in the other apartment started or why the fire caused more extensive damage to it."

Henry's mind went back to the recently returned memory. "Could you detect the use of an accelerant in either apartment?"

Vince stopped on a landing. "That's the strange thing. The arson dogs didn't detect anything. We've just received the lab results from the samples taken at the scene, and the results reported the presence of soot. If an accelerant was used, it wasn't a traditional one."

He opened the door. "Watch where you step."

Henry cautiously followed the fire marshal to the apartments. Based on the structure and the architecture, he wanted to say that the building had stood here since the 1880s. _How do I know that?_

"How could anyone survive this?" Lucas muttered in amazement as they stepped into an apartment.

Henry shot his assistant a look. He preferred that the marshal didn't know about that detail just yet. He didn't want to arouse the marshal's suspicions about his presence in the apartment that day.

He surveyed his surroundings. Gray soot turned every exposed surface into a monochromatic scene. The fire hollowed out several spots in the roof, creating the debris which littered the floor and the scant amount of furniture. Several wires dangled from the ceiling, and a slight smell of smoke lingered in the air despite the two weeks which had passed.

He stared at the silhouette in the middle of the living room floor. Several small piles of debris stood as a testament to his colleagues' removal of Brent's body. At the same time, he could see the exact position in which the young man had laid as he had drawn his final breath.

A darker spot located a few feet away from the outline attracted Henry's attention.

 _ **Apartment at Columbia and Grand, New York City, March 23**_

 _Henry wasn't sure what was worse: the stifling smoke filling the air, the living quarters' increasing heat, or his worsening headache and nausea. He coughed, fought back the resulting nausea, and placed his arm over his nose. As soon as he felt the hoodie's fabric tickling his nose, he realized that his plan was futile. He could still smell the smoke as it crept into the space formed by the crook of his elbow and his nose._

 _His eyes began to sting. He partially shut them to keep the smoke out. He studied the room to find another way to escape but couldn't see any. He spied the door. If he could try again…_

 _As he took a couple of steps, his legs wobbled, and the smoke started to cloud his mind. There was no reason to believe that another attempt at using the door would succeed. He knew that there was another way out, but what—and where—was it?_

 _ **Apartment at Columbia and Grand, New York City, April 6**_

Henry's eyes darted around the room as the memory ended. Did he just…?

He inhaled. The growing confusion would explain why he had no memory of his activities after that moment. He must have lost consciousness shortly before he could set his plan into motion.

He gingerly walked over to where he had seen the smoke's origin. Once he arrived, he examined the wall. It appeared as though it was slightly darker in color in one area. He followed the path down to the origin. There was….

He looked back at Vince and Lucas. "Marshall Gideons?"

The men broke from their deep conversation. "Yeah?" Vince came over to Henry's location in the kitchen. "What have you found?"

Henry pointed to the mark on the wall and to the pile of ashes sitting under it. "Did you notice this?"

The other man squinted at the sight. "How did we miss them?" He turned back to Henry. "Great catch. I'll get the lab to come out today and take a sample of this."

Henry lowered his gaze. He had no idea how to take the compliment.

All three men looked at each other, lost in their thoughts. Lucas suddenly grinned. "I think that I know what happened. Aliens…"

As Lucas launched into his outrageous theory, Henry and Vince exchanged looks. Henry hoped that his conveyed a message of "Don't encourage him."

He laid his hands on the nearby table. It was obvious that the original fire was intentional. Whoever had rescued him had allowed more oxygen to enter the burning unit and caused it to grow uncontrollably. Whether the addition of oxygen was inadvertent or not, he had no way of knowing until someone had discussed it with him.

He looked over at his counterpart and swallowed. He couldn't possibly explain his theory to the man. It would signal his presence in the fire, and it would draw unwanted attention to his escape. Somehow, Henry didn't think that Vince would believe him if he told him the truth. Perhaps it was something that was best shared with everyone else. At least they would believe him.

* * *

Mike studied the reflections of two of his colleagues in the vending machine's glass. He wished that they would just get their coffee and leave. Some people had more important things to do than stand around all day and talk.

He resisted the urge to sigh. Admittedly, his thoughts about Doc were bothering him. When he had first met Henry, he had called the doctor "Dr. Crazy Crackers" because of his death wish, his tendency to call every death a murder, and his ability to give them a fairly accurate description of their suspect, the crime, or their victim's lifestyle just based on seeing the body and/or the scene. Knowing the truth made him more emphatic toward the eccentric medical examiner. Now, everything about him would be gone in less than twenty-four hours, and they would be left with…well, he didn't know exactly who, but it wasn't Henry.

The other detectives finally picked up their cups and left. Mike followed them to the door, checked the hallway, and took a seat at the table. No one would interrupt him when he made this call.

"Hi, honey."

Mike inhaled and hoped that Karen wouldn't assume that something was wrong. "Hey, baby. I was calling to say hi." He shifted in his seat. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

 _Man, she knows me too well_. "A weird question came up at work. I know that you use stories and pictures when you write biographies. What else would you use?"

"Did someone try to tell Henry that he was wrong about something?"

 _We will_. "You could say that." Frankly, they needed more evidence to present the immortal than what he and Jo had come up with on the drive back to the precinct.

As Karen listed the possible records, Mike buried his head in his hand. The list of people whom Doc had known and places that he had been to were locked inside his head. If Nora and Abigail weren't Henry's only wives, his wife and child—or wives and children—would use aliases throughout their lives with him, making it nearly impossible to find them on any type of records. It was difficult to interview people who have been dead for centuries. And a guy who returned to life within a few minutes after a death wouldn't need a will or a tombstone every time he died.

Mike thanked his wife, told her that he was going to the shop after work, and hung up. He sighed. Even if Doc didn't believe that immortality existed, telling him the truth about himself would make life a lot easier. At first, he would think that they were crazy, but he would regain his memory through either another death or actually remembering everything. If not…

"Jo told me that you're staging an intervention for Henry tonight."

Mike turned around and noticed Lt. Reece in the room with a book in her hands. Where did she come from? Stunned by his superior's sudden appearance, he nodded.

Lieu held out the book. "Take this when you go. It might spark something."

Mike took the leather-bound journal and flipped through it. On every page, in Henry's handwriting, was a list of his activities for the past 115 years. How…?

"Henry gave it to me when he had first told me about his condition." The other woman apparently anticipated his question. "I want it back when you get done with it. Outside of newspaper articles, this might become the only evidence that could clear Henry in cold cases."

Mike ran a hand over the cover. "We'll take care of it."

"Good." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. As she tapped her screen, she sighed. "This is one time that I hate being the boss. One of my own is in trouble, and I can't do much to help him because of policy."

A moment later, Mike's phone rang. Bracing himself for a call to another scene, he answered it. His mouth dropped open when he saw the painting of Henry's family that was in the evidence room. He looked up at Lieu in amazement.

Lt. Reece inhaled. "Good luck tonight."

As she left the room, Mike swallowed and looked down at the journal. Hopefully, something would jog Henry's memory. He sighed as he rose from his seat and headed back to his desk. If they didn't succeed, then what?

* * *

Henry stepped up to the mantle and studied the picture of his family. He sighed. He couldn't possibly have lost both his wife and his son at the same time. He wanted to believe that his son was alive, but that was difficult without his ability to remember what had happened in the days before his loss.

He turned and began to pace. Fortunately, upon his return from his meeting with Vince, Dr. Lippmann had agreed to give him the rest of the day off without an explanation. Henry had spent the afternoon exploring the Lower East Side. At one point, he happened upon the National Museum. Curious about its significance to him, he decided to explore it. As he reached the step just under the arch, he inexplicably could not bring himself to enter the building. He became so overwhelmed with grief, which was somehow connected with his wife, that he had dashed down the stairs and had run until the museum was out of his sight.

He took a deep breath. He needed a distraction.

He spied the filled kitchen sink. Abe would be back from his grocery shopping soon, and he would likely start cooking the moment that he returned. He would appreciate some clean dishes.

Henry removed Abe's wristwatch, rubbed his wrist while breathing a sigh of relief, and laid it on an end table near the folding doors. Perhaps Jo was right. He could use another time piece at work instead of Abe's watch. She had suggested wearing a pocket watch, but he didn't want to take any of Abe's merchandise for himself. Abe could use the profits from it to pay for the shop's rent or for additional antiques to sale. That is, if he could find a buyer for it.

He bit his lower lip in thought. Their merchandise was in nearly pristine condition. With the exception of the one sale that he knew of, why hadn't anyone bought anything else? And how did Abe obtain the money to pay the shop's bills? Their business should have become bankrupt by now. Perhaps he should ask Abe about that when he returned. If the other man was reluctant to say anything, he could examine the ledgers in the desk downstairs and discover the sources of income that way.

Henry headed for the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and started his task. As he washed the dishes, his thoughts drifted to his and Jo's conversation. She had mentioned that they would have to tell him a couple of things about himself should his memory fail to return. What was it that he needed to remember for her and everyone else?

Then again, did he really want to know about it?

He sighed as he rinsed a plate and placed it on the dish rack. If it was important to them, he should try to remember it.

He picked up a knife. Just as he started to wash it, its dimensions attracted his notice. How did men shave with something like it?

A flash of him holding a razor—identical to the one in his nightmare—to his wrist suddenly appeared and then instantly vanished.

Feeling nauseous and lightheaded all of a sudden, he dropped the knife back into the soapy water, quickly dried his hands, and staggered to the sofa. Once seated, he closed his eyes and rubbed his face in an attempt to wipe the unsettling memory from his mind. He didn't realize how ill he was earlier in his life. The loss of his wife and his son could have triggered… Then again, had he always…?

He huffed. He needed to talk to someone about that and about the odd memories, the disconcerting flashes, and his unusual tendency to be near the East River in the nude. He wished that he could discuss it with Abe, Jo, Lucas, and Mike, but they would only insist on the impossible. He needed an independent third-party who would…

Energized by the idea, he leapt to his feet and raced toward his room. He quickly located his medical records, brought them into the living room, and leafed through the file until he found the desired page. He dialed the number and impatiently waited for a receptionist to answer. The moment that he heard a human voice, his hopes soared.

"Hello? Bellevue Department of Psychiatry?... Yes, I would like to schedule an appointment…"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The research into lithography and wove paper is from Old World Auctions' "History of Papermaking for Map Collectors" and Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps' "Frequently Asked Questions". I learned about _The Gentleman's Magazine_ from Wikipedia and Ancestry dot com. The information on arsons comes from InterFire.

Henry calls Marshal Gideons by his first name in his internal monologue because he noticed it on the envelope. As for the burnt apartment complex, it is a composite of two buildings at the real-life intersection and the historical tenement buildings that occupied the Lower East Side and Alphabet City.


	36. Chapter 36

**Author's Note** : First, if you didn't receive a notification about Chapter 35, I'm sorry about that! Fanfiction's notifications were acting up at the time, and no one—not even I—received an email saying that it was posted.

Second, I started writing this while writing chapters three and six. The first half has been somewhat rewritten to fit the story better, but the basic idea is the same. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 36**

"What do you want to do tonight?"

Abe's question interrupted Henry's concentration on his task. "I haven't thought about it," _especially not since my most recent flash of memory_. "Did you have any plans?"

Abe pulled his lips together as he reached into the sink and pulled out the stopper. "I have some guests coming over. I hope you don't mind."

Henry eyed his roommate. Perhaps they were the three men whom he had seen in his nightmare. If that were the case, he could meet them and then afford them some much needed privacy by venturing out into the city. He could head to the Lincoln Center and see if they had a performance that he would be interested in. If not, then he could find another source of entertainment. It would feel great to not focus on his issues for the first time in a week.

He finished rinsing the dishes, dried his hands, and joined Abe in the living room. "Not at all. When will they arrive?"

"Soon."

Henry nodded. As he turned to the mantle and gazed at the photograph, his and his wife's clothes caught his attention. For some reason, he couldn't shake the idea that their garments indicated the picture's age. If that were the case, it meant…

The advertisement's question unexpectedly returned to his mind. What would it be like to see history unfold before him? To live in one moment and to immediately realize its significance? To be able to constantly stand with one foot in the past and the other in the present?

His eyes drifted to his wife's image, and he instinctively ran his finger over it. What he would gain in perspective, he would lose in relationships. He would watch his family and friends age and die while he would remain unaging and full of life…forever. If anyone were to realize it, his agelessness would generate many unwanted and unanswerable questions. It could motivate people to harm—or even kill—his loved ones to make him comply with their demands for something that they could not obtain.

Even if no one threatened them, immortality would still create issues within his relationships. It would cause the people whom he cared about a tremendous amount of pain if others observed a discrepancy between their relationship and their physical appearances. They would even consider leaving him or betraying him to avoid the agony that he caused them. The only ways that he could prevent it would be to either move frequently if others became suspicious or to distance himself from any human interaction for as long as he lived.

He sighed. Perhaps the mythological nature of immortality was for the best. If it were real, everyone—both immortal and mortal—would unwarrantedly suffer because of it.

"Would you get the door?"

Henry jumped and turned to Abe. Why would he allow him to stay? Unless…

Eager to begin his evening, he hurried downstairs. Just as he opened the doors separating the living quarters from the shop, his steps slowed to a stop. Three silhouettes, two masculine and one feminine, passed by the shop's window, so engrossed in their conversation that they appeared to be unmindful of their surroundings. A moment later, they slowed as they approached the corner.

His curiosity drew him to the door and urged him to unlock it. Upon his instant recognition of the trio, his mouth dropped open. He was pleasantly surprised to see Jo before him, but he had assumed that Mike and Lucas would rather spend their spare time with their families and other friends. He couldn't imagine what had prompted their visit.

Mike brushed past him, and the pack on his back bumped against Henry's chest. As Lucas quickly followed the detective, Mike looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Doc. Hope you don't mind us coming over."

Before he could respond, Jo's hand slid around his waist, its warmth stalling his thoughts. "We knew that you're worried about tomorrow, and we wanted to see if we could help you jog your memory."

After she eased around him, he rubbed the spot where the faint pressure caused by Mike's backpack still lingered. The moment that he fingered his scar, he sighed. If only he could remember how he had acquired it and how he had cheated death then….

He looked past the trio to maintain his composure. He wasn't making much progress in regaining his memory. Over the past few hours, he was starting to wonder if the events in his past were so painful that his mind was blocking them out and was creating something more pleasant or tolerable to replace them. Perhaps it was best if he left his past alone and live his life without giving it a second thought.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched everyone proceed to the interior door. Although recent memories were becoming increasingly strange, he _was_ remembering a few things about his life with everyone. Perhaps he should try it one final time. If he remembered anything odd, he could always discuss the matter with Kimberley during his appointment on Friday. Perchance she could provide him with the perspective that he desperately needed.

Inhaling, he summoned his courage and followed them to the living room. _Here goes_.

When he reached the top of the stairs, the movement at the dining room table attracted his attention. Mike handed Jo something while Lucas fished another object out of his messenger bag. None of them appeared to have noticed his approach. Hoping to see what they were doing, he stepped over to the other side of Jo.

Abe caught his eye, moved toward him, and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Let's go sit on the sofa, shall we?"

Henry reluctantly allowed his roommate to guide him to the living room. As he sat down, he slapped his hands onto his knees and rubbed them. Obviously, the night's events had been planned for some time. He should just go with the flow. One of their ideas could be the key to unlocking his memory.

Lucas walked over to them and held something out. "You probably don't remember these, but they came in handy during a case. Be very careful with them. This is one of the rare times which I've taken them out of their plastic covers."

Henry gently took the offered objects. As he pulled them to himself, he furrowed his forehead at the sight of two _Soul Slasher_ comic books.

" _Graphic novels, doc_."

Henry blinked at the faint memory. When…?

Looking for a clue, he flipped through the publications. A short time later, he suppressed his urge to sigh. The stories of Jack the Ripper and the Black Dahlia needled something, but he didn't know what. The only thing that he was sure of was that his journal of autopsy notes dating to 1888 appeared to be original notes from Mary Kelly's murder.

He swallowed at the thought, closed the book, and gave it back to his assistant. "I'm sorry. I don't remember what case it was."

As Jo and Mike entered the room, Abe reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and tapped the screen. "I can't believe that you found this. I still don't know why you haven't claimed it yet. You usually do with everything else that you find from…." Abe swallowed as he handed the phone to Henry.

Henry studied the image. A family dressed in the same style of clothing that he had seen in his first daydream sat in a living room filled with familiar-looking antique furniture. Two men, one older and one younger, stood behind a settee and flanked the piece of furniture's female occupant.

His heart unexpectedly ached as he gazed at the people. Three more people, a boy and two girls, should be with them. The girls should be sitting on either side of their mother while the boy should have joined his father and older brother behind them. He inhaled as he fought back stinging tears that accompanied the thought. _How do I know that?_

The young man standing behind the settee attracted his attention, and he almost dropped the device. The hair was longer, curlier, and more unruly. Yet, Henry swore that the lad looked _exactly_ like a younger version of him.

He looked up at everyone. "When was this portrait painted?" He doubted that anyone would know.

Abe caught his eye. "1794."

 _Seventeen—?!_ With his hands suddenly trembling, he passed the phone back to the other man. He took a deep breath to calm himself. That couldn't be possible. He wasn't—.

"Henry?" Jo's concerned voice encouraged him to look at her. "Are you alright?"

He offered her a smile. "I'm fine."

She studied him. "Are you sure?"

"I—I was just a little startled by the date." He resisted the impulse to swallow. He hated to lie to her, but he couldn't bear the thought of another argument with her or anyone else in the room if he said what he was thinking.

Seeking a distraction, he nodded toward the book in her hand. "What do you have?"

"This?" She flipped it over and then warily handed it to him.

He opened the leather bound journal. As he read his handwritten pages, he shook his head in amazement. London, Saint Petersburg, Milan, Brussels, Tokyo, Rome, Sydney, Chicago—how had he lived in so many places?

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise when he read that he had lived in Paris. He quickly found the date, 1929. He scanned the other dates. It appeared that he had lived in those places about a century before. _No, they must be incorrect. I wasn't—_.

He rapidly closed the book, laid it on the coffee table, and huffed in frustration. How was he going to tell them that their efforts to jog his memory were only adding to his confusion?

Mike started to move toward the doors. "I brought my laptop. We could watch the YouTube video that you were interested in."

Henry swallowed. The last time that he had viewed it—in person—he had begun to contemplate that it was possible for him to have lived in New York nearly 130 years ago. "Not today."

"Wait!" A gleeful Lucas hovered near him. "You voluntarily went online for the first time?! Why didn't you tell us? We could celebrate!"

"I didn't think of it." Although he couldn't tell them about his earlier online search, at least his view of the video was the truth. "Perhaps we could celebrate another time."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Mike eventually placed both hands of the back of the sofa. "Jo mentioned that you remembered being in a train crash. Do you want to tell us what happened?"

Adrenaline surged through Henry, and he froze in terror. He couldn't possibly answer the other man. He could neither remember the rest of the incident nor verbalize what had happened that day without sounding like a madman. He would never forgive himself if he drove a deep wedge between the people whom he cared about and himself and permanently fractured his relationships with them.

A gentle pat on his shoulder from Abe freed Henry from his paralysis. He rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to lash out at the person who had made him this way. He wasn't a religious man, but he felt an innate inclination to blame a deity for his condition. Yet, that didn't sit right with him. A fellow human being was likely at fault for his anguish, and he shouldn't take his anger and exasperation out on a supreme being whom he wasn't sure even existed.

Henry opened his eyes as he sensed Jo joining his side and tenderly taking one hand into hers. With her free one, she traced a path from the top of his head to his nape. Each gentle stroke of her fingers scattered his thoughts and caused them to vanish. Not wanting her to stop until she felt that he no longer needed it, he leaned his head back into her touch. To his pleasant surprise, she continued her loving caress as though she had sensed his wish.

A few moments later, she withdrew her hand. Taking both hands into hers, she settled on the edge of the coffee table. As her knees pressed into his, she looked deep into his eyes and smiled. "Let's try something else. Close your eyes."

Both his surroundings and everyone but her dissolved into a formless mass in his peripheral vision. He dutifully complied with her instructions, automatically dropped his head, and patiently waited for her next request. He would do anything for the woman whom he had given his whole heart to.

"What do you remember?" Her gentle voice relaxed him as her strokes had. "Just take your time. Don't force it."

If he had any resistance to her suggestion, he didn't feel it. He trusted her, and that was all that mattered.

 _ **Morgan Family Estate, London, 1815**_

 _Nora's expression darkened as she plucked her hand from his chest and pulled away from him. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity._

" _No, what you are saying cannot be possible. You are not—."_

 _Henry's eyes maintained a steadfast gaze on her as shock began to overtake him. Nora had always believed in the supernatural. Why was she refusing to believe that he was telling her the truth?_

" _You have had a great deal of turmoil lately." His wife's increasingly frantic voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "You have lost your father last year. That and your experiences aboard the ship had caused you to—."_

" _Nora!" A growing alarm propelled him off their bed. "I beg you, please believe me."_

 _She sat up and eyed him. "Henry, you are—."_

Mad _. He knew that he was not, and he could prove it. He glanced over at the table holding his water bowl and his razor._

 _ **Abe's Antiques, New York City, Present-Day**_

Henry's eyes flew open as everything slowly and silently continued to unfold before him. He rose from his place and walked over to his table. He turned to face Nora. Her eyes grew wider, and she became more panicked with each passing second.

Something brushed his leg and caused the scene to slightly dim, bringing a small piece of another world into his awareness. He paid it no attention. All that he was focused on was watching Nora as she tried to calm him.

He could see himself doing something which was upsetting her. For some reason, he couldn't move in accordance to it. It was almost as if his body knew something that he did not.

Suddenly, she inhaled. "I believe you."

"You believe me?" Anger and sorrow permeated his voice as unbidden words from an undisclosed source flowed out of him. "Because of you, I have spent my life living in fear of being discovered, of being viewed and treated as a beast if people learned the truth about me. When I make friends and find someone to love, I can't bring myself to trust them, and I have lied to them about my life to preserve myself. Even after I tell them the truth about myself and _if_ they accept me, I constantly worry about how I'm burdening them with my condition or if they will lose their lives because of me. Because of you, I have spent the majority of my life hiding myself from everyone instead of enjoying my time with them like I should."

A realization dawned on him. "You know that this isn't me." His voice began to crack, and he felt tears in his eyes. "Yet, I have changed as a result of what I have experienced at your hands. I would have remained the same man you had always known if you believed me when I said that I'm—."

His throat seized at the next word. He tried to open his mouth, but he inexplicably couldn't. Something was preventing him from ever uttering the truth.

A slight jab on the side of his leg jolted him out of the recollection. The scene faded, leaving only the sight of Abe, Jo, Lucas, and Mike watching him in stunned disbelief.

The room immediately felt smaller. His heart pounded, and his legs tensed. He needed to get away— _now_. With that thought in his mind, Henry snatched his coat off the coat rack and sped toward the antique shop's door.

* * *

Jo stared at the door leading to the stairwell. She hadn't seen Henry that panicked since he had told her that he was immortal.

"Jo?" She turned to a concerned Abe. "What did you do to Dad?"

"I don't know." She thought that she was comforting him when it had seemed that he was becoming more frustrated about his memory. She had no idea why he closed his eyes a moment after she had sat down or what had just happened.

Lucas shifted his weight and crossed his arms. "Henry acted like he's seen a ghost. Who would be creepy enough to leave their life in the afterlife behind and stalk him like Adam?"

"Lucas." Mike's stern voice yanked Jo from her thoughts. "Only immortals return from the dead. You know that, especially with the number of times we've had to fish Doc out of the river."

Jo furrowed her forehead as she remembered Henry's words. There was only one person who—.

Her eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. "Nora."

At the sound of the unwelcomed name, everyone raced through the living quarters, down the stairs, and out the door. As she looked around the area, adrenaline surged through her. They needed to find Henry now. He was terrified of what he was remembering, and they had no idea what he would do.

Abe stepped away from the door and headed down Stanton toward the parking lot near Katz's. She swallowed. She hadn't thought about that possibility.

Determined to find her boyfriend, she surveyed the intersection. She finally saw a man stopping a couple of blocks away. She pointed herself in that direction and began to dash toward him. Hopefully, she could get to Henry before it was too late.

* * *

Henry's heart pounded with each step that he took along Stanton. The best way to end his confusion was to leave New York tonight. He could slip into the shop, find and pack a suitcase, and leave on the next flight to London. Perhaps some time in the city of his birth and early life would give him both a perspective and his memories.

He stopped at the crosswalk near Attorney and sighed as Jo's words about his frequent moves because of his issues came back to him. He had chosen the coward's way many times before, and he was choosing it again now. It might be in his best interests to stay and work things out.

The light turned green. He shoved his hands into his pockets and huffed. He still needed to find a way to tell everyone what had happened. This memory was the most intense and the longest one that he had ever had. Based on the furniture and clothes, this one appeared to be from the distant past. Not only that, but the actress in his nightmare was another wife—one whom had apparently hurt him deeply with her disbelief and with the resulting actions.

He shook his head. That wasn't possible…yet, it was. _How—?_

At that moment, he saw a splash of maroon hanging from his coat. He stopped and pulled the offending object from his coat's lapel. His eyes widened as he saw a scarf. He must had grabbed it when he removed his coat from the coat rack.

He studied the garment and tried to decide how to wear it. He could wrap it around his neck twice. He could throw one end over his shoulder and let it hang down.

His hands had a different idea. They folded it in half and wrapped around his neck. As his hands started to pull the ends through the loop, he startled. _That doesn't seem right_. He pulled it off, unfolded it, and let the ends hang down over his chest.

As he tugged on the ends to ensure that they were even, he heard angry voices rising above the light traffic. He sped across the intersection. Although he hadn't practiced medicine in a while, he still had a moral obligation to treat whoever had been injured. That is, if he didn't find the person dead upon his arrival.

Just as he entered the alley formed by the apartment complex and the nearby playground, a gunshot pierced the air. Fighting an innate predisposition for self-preservation, he opened the ajar gate and stepped over to the man whom had just fallen. The moment that he squatted to study his patient, he quickly spotted a growing pool of blood coming from the man's left shoulder.

Henry looked around. The gentleman was losing consciousness, and he would need surgery very soon if he were to live. Henry saw a couple of cars parked along the side of the road. Someone should have a can of brake fluid in the trunk. He didn't know what he could use to extract the bullet, but he could find something that would do.

He shook his head. Breaking into a car would attract attention and lead to his arrest. In the meantime, his patient would lose his battle to survive.

He looked at the man's face as he pulled his scarf off so he could apply pressure to the wound. The man was likely frightened by the thought of dying, and he needed hope to live. "Courage. You're a strong man, and you will get through this. You have my word."

He needed to call for assistance. He reached into his pocket for a cell phone, but he couldn't find any. _Why don't I carry a cell phone? It would be useful at a time like this_.

Suddenly, Henry heard a click. He looked up and saw another man pointing a gun at him. Henry followed the angle of the gun to the location where it was trained on his body. Adrenaline surged through him as he realized that the muzzle was directed at his chest. He swallowed as he looked back at the man.

The start of the man's gruff voice prevented Henry from talking. "Move aside, punk."

* * *

Henry gathered the courage to look his would-be attacker in the eye. "Sir, if you refuse to let me treat this gentleman, he will die." Henry kept his focus on the man, hoping that it would convince him to leave the pair alone. Oddly enough, the entire situation felt as though it had happened before—on multiple occasions.

Instead, he heard a bang and felt something piercing through his skin and into his chest. He fell back from the force of it. His entire back stung and his head throbbed as his body hit the ground. He looked up and saw his attacker walk away.

Henry stared through the trees' bare branches at the light-filled sky. Tears tried to form in his eyes as his life began to drain from him. In a few short minutes, his life would end, and his family and friends would suffer the pain of losing him for the rest of their lives. Their heartache and suffering would be his fault because of his memory issues and his own stubborn refusal to acknowledge that they had been holding the key to his past the entire time.

He tried to take a deep breath, and a sharp pain seared through him. If his life ended tonight, the first thing that he wanted to do in the afterlife, if there was one, was to find his family and his other wife—Abigail—and ask them what he was like in the past. When everyone else joined him, he could tell them what he had learned about himself…once he apologized for what he had put them through and asked for their forgiveness.

If he miraculously survived this, he would ask everyone about what he was missing. Whatever it was couldn't be worse than this.

"Lucas! Tend to Henry's patient!"

"Okay…. Are you telling him that we'll see him again in a few minutes?"

"Lucas!"

Henry blinked. Was he hallucinating? He could have sworn that he heard Jo, Lucas, and Mike with him.

Jo suddenly appeared before him. "Hey, there."

He tried to raise himself, but the excruciating pain and an increasing feeling of weakness pinned him to the ground.

"I'm sorry." A sudden inability to breathe easily prevented him from telling her that he regretted leaving the shop and her side. For being so resistant to their attempts to jog his memory tonight. For the future pain that they would suffer at his hands.

Her fingers ran through his hair while her other hand took one of his. He would miss this when he was gone.

He unsuccessfully tried to swallow. He didn't want to leave everyone and everything behind. He wanted more time with them, and he would give anything for it.

A sob escaped Jo and interrupted his thoughts. He longed to take her into his arms to comfort her.

"It's okay. You're scared just like we are." She inhaled as she tried to school her features to give him her strength. "You'll get your memory back now."

"How?" The word barely came out.

At that moment, an ambulance's siren pierced the air. A new sense of hope surged through him. The paramedics would notice his injury and would rush him to the hospital for medical treatment and a more proper reunion with everyone.

Jo glanced over her shoulder and groaned. "Man! Come on, Henry! Just die already!"

 _What?!_ He thought that she wanted him to live and to remain by her side for as long as she should live.

She smiled, leaned over, and whispered in his ear. "It's okay. We'll be waiting for you. All of us, even Abe."

 _What did she mean by that?_

Everything became to fade and dim. His life now freely flowed from him. It was clear that he wasn't going to make it.

Suddenly, his life over the past two weeks, the few memories that he had, and, strangely, the daydreams flashed before his eyes.

* * *

Jo leaned back and watched his chest rise and fall once more and then stopped. With her free hand, she checked his pulse. She couldn't feel it anymore. In the next second, she felt air where Henry's hand and body had been. She let out a sigh of relief that his secret was still safe from strangers. She pulled out her cell phone and checked the time, in case Henry wanted the time of his death for his journal. Then, she quickly texted Abe to let him know about it.

Suddenly shivering, Jo stood up and staggered deeper into the playground. She leaned against a tree and let her tears flow. She admitted to herself that she was scared because she didn't know what the next few minutes would bring. As far as they knew, Henry had never died while suffering from amnesia before, and no one—not even Henry—knew how it would affect his awakening. If he had stumbled onto a permanent death for himself, she wouldn't be able to cope. She had already lost Sean; she couldn't lose Henry too.

The thought of Adam telling Henry that he had never found a death for himself unexpectedly crossed her mind. As much as she hated the other immortal's attempts to end Henry's life in New York, that comment gave her a small sense of hope. If Adam had experienced something like this and survived, Henry could too. She clung to the hope that Abe would soon spot his father emerging from the river alive and would be making his way toward him to prevent his next arrest.

Behind her, she heard the ambulance that she had called after they had heard the first gunshot pull up and the paramedics removing a gurney from the back of the vehicle. At the same time, a police siren whopped one final time, and the door slammed closed. Jo wiped her eyes, hoped that her mascara wouldn't give her away, and headed toward the others.

"Zack!" Mike's voice rang through the playground.

"Mike? What are you doing here?"

Mike shifted his weight. "We were in the area when the first gunshot rang out. We left where we were to investigate, and we came across this guy. A Good Samaritan must had tried to treat the victim before running away from the second gunshot. Jo and I checked the area for suspects, but we didn't see anyone."

"Uh, huh." Zack noticed Lucas. "Who are you?"

Lucas cleared his throat and extended a hand. "Lucas Wahl, assistant medical examiner. Yeah, I was in the neighborhood visiting a friend when I heard the first gunshot. I ran over and saw the man on the ground. After seeing his injury, I used my scarf to treat him. I heard a second gunshot, but I have no idea where it came from."

She stifled a chuckle as Mike shot Lucas a look. Henry wouldn't mind Lucas' alibi and claim to his scarf if and when he heard about it. From what she could tell, he might even compliment Lucas on his treatment of their patient if he lived.

She finally looked at her colleague. "Hey, Zack."

He turned to her. "Jo?" He studied her in confusion.

She quickly compose herself. "We were in the area visiting a friend when we heard the first gunshot ring out. We ran out of our friend's apartment and came here to investigate. As Lucas treated the victim, Mike and I checked the area, but we didn't see anyone else. We all heard a second shot, but we don't know where it had come from." She hoped that Zack wouldn't suspect that something about all three stories was off.

Zack looked at Mike and Lucas, who nodded in agreement with her version.

When Zack left to phone it in, Jo let out a sigh of relief. No one would suspect that Henry had died here tonight.

Sensing that it was time to leave the scene, the trio walked down Stanton until they knew that everyone wouldn't see them. When they stopped near Attorney, Mike and Lucas hugged her. Jo knew that the circumstances of this death weighed heavily on their minds as well. After all, they had become friends with Henry over the past few years, and they likely were thinking the same thing that she was.

In silence, they made their way back to the antiques shop. As they walked, Jo hoped that, in the next few minutes, they would get some good news. For her, it would be in the form of Henry Morgan walking through the doors of his home—alive and well.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** ***holding out my stockpile of virtual tissues after taking one for myself***

Chapter 37 is written already. Due to the nature of this chapter, I plan to post the next one a few days from now. I'm not going to leave you hanging for long.


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note** : I promised that I wouldn't keep you waiting to see if Henry makes it out of this death and if he'll regain his memory. I wrote this chapter while writing the previous one; it helped to keep me from becoming quite emotional that ending.

Second, something might not make sense at first, but I hope that it would become clearer as you read. If isn't still not clear, don't worry; I explain it in the author's note at the end of the chapter.

I hope that you would enjoy the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 37**

Cold rushing water surrounded him. His burning lungs and throbbing chest begged for air. He could not breathe just yet; breaths here would kill him. He needed to get out of the water— _now_. Instinctively, his arms propelled him toward the light above him. He continued pushing until his arms hit the air. A second later, his head and then his shoulders and chest breached the water. He gasped the second he reached the surface. He took a deep breath and filled his pain-filled lungs with desperately needed air.

Henry bobbed in the water and looked out from his position. Brooklyn's skyline greeted his sight. He turned in the water and scanned the horizon. Manhattan's skyline filled his vision. To his left were the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. To his right, the Williamsburg Bridge loomed over him. He trailed his eyes from the buildings to his position. Water surrounded him. He gasped as he realized that he was _in_ the East River.

 _How did I get here?!_

Before he could begin to answer his question, the river's swift current knocked him off of his feet. He automatically leaned over onto his chest and began swimming. The water's flow threatened to either sweep him out to sea or drag him under to his death. Each instinctive stroke, however, drove him closer to shore. After a couple of minutes, he noticed that the shoreline was near. He lowered his legs, and his feet touched the river's bottom. He walked along the rocky bed until he stepped foot onto the shore.

Stunned by what he had done, he sat down on the grass near the shoreline and stared at the river. A moment later, he joyfully chuckled. He had just swum across it without the slightest trace of fear. Not only that, but he had also been in water much deeper than his chest. If he were to hazard a guess, he would say that it was almost eleven meters from where he was to the surface.

A slight breeze chilled him. To maintain his warmth, he wrapped his arms around himself. The first thing that he would do when he returned home would be to change into drier clothes. After that, he would call everyone and let them know that he was okay. They—.

As he rose from his spot and turned toward the city, he swallowed. His memory of what had happened moments before was rather fuzzy. How—?

He brushed the thought aside as another chill coursed through him. He wouldn't be able to return home or to talk to them if he died of hypothermia.

He refocused his attention to the task at hand. He scanned the area to see where he was at. Trees and a few streetlights lined a sidewalk leading back to the busy street. Various complexes stood in the distance. He smiled as he immediately recognized the location and began to walk toward the buildings. It was the same spot where he and Jo had spent some time together a few days ago. He could follow the same route that they had taken to the shop back home.

First, though, he needed to find someplace warm. He could take advantage of the lobby of one of the apartment complexes. He could use their phone to call everyone and warm up while he waited for one of them to pick him up. If only he could recall their cell phone numbers….

He sighed. There was a good chance that they weren't anywhere nearby. He did remember Jo, Mike, and Lucas being by his side. He must have risen from the ground and had blindly run until he had fallen into the river. They had probably tried to follow him until they had lost his trail. They could be anywhere in the city, and it would take them some time to reach his location.

He stopped himself. His first—and main—priority right now was to find a warm shelter for himself. He could worry about that later.

A few seconds later, he detected two officers walking toward the river. Their pace unexpectedly quickened. Curious, he wrinkled his brows and turned around to see who was behind him. Oddly enough, there was no one else in sight.

He looked back at the officers. Adrenaline surged through his body as he tried to think of what he had done wrong. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything. As he stepped toward the officers, he gulped and planned to surrender to prevent any problems.

"I know about this incident. I got him!"

Henry stopped and looked toward the familiar voice; his brows wrinkled in confusion. "Abe?!"

Henry let out a sigh of relief and smiled as he saw Abe hurrying down the sidewalk as fast as his sciatica would allow him. He didn't know how Abe knew that he was here, but he was glad to see him.

A few steps later, Abe slowed down until he stopped directly in front of Henry and held out a large red blanket. It struck him that people normally didn't carry one in public places unless they were on a picnic. He narrowed his eyes, more out of confusion than anger.

Abe cleared his throat.

Henry hoped that the other man wasn't coming down with something. "Are you okay?"

The gentleman refused to respond to Henry's question. Instead, he extended the blanket to Henry.

A few seconds later, Abe nodded toward him.

Henry looked at him.

Abe then glared at him.

Abe was attempting to tell him something. What was he missing?

At that moment, a cool slight breeze from the river brushed his wet skin.

 _Wet skin?_ Henry looked down…

…and saw that he was completely naked.

His cheeks flushed, Henry looked back up at an amused Abe. That was the message that he had missed.

Henry snatched the blanket from Abe's hands and quickly draped it around him. He ensured that the extra fabric hung over the front half of his body. As he finished, the breeze threatened to send another shiver through his body, but the cloth's warmth shielded him from its effects.

He glanced over Abe's shoulder to see if the officers were still there. Hopefully, they didn't plan to arrest him now.

The pair waved at him. Afraid to let go of the cloth, Henry nodded in response. Satisfied with the resolution of their problem, the men walked away. As Henry watched them leave, Abe walked around and quietly led him back to his car.

* * *

When he arrived at the car, Henry was relieved to see it. Using one hand to keep the blanket over him, he opened the door and climbed into the passenger's seat. He started to buckle his seatbelt, and a splash of color caught his eye. He looked down and was pleasantly surprised to see a stack of clothes and a towel in the seat next to him. He unwrapped the blanket from around his body and proceeded to dry off and to change into the dry clothes. As Abe pulled out of the parking lot, Henry leaned back in his seat and let the car's heater thaw his cold body.

He eventually looked at Abe. He wanted to ask the other man how he had known exactly where he was and what he needed. Abe, however, would counter with the question of how he found his way to the park and why he was there.

Henry swallowed as the events of the past few minutes suddenly came into focus. He couldn't have possibly run this far, especially not with a gunshot wound to the chest. Not with his life draining from him. Not with his life flashing before his eyes.

He inhaled as he remembered what he had thought when he had first seen the scar on his chest. His throat tightened at the next thought. He immediately knew what had happened.

He died.

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. But how—?

Searching for clues, Henry unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and looked down at his chest to find the wound from his gunshot. His mouth opened at the sight before him. There was no trace of the bullet wound anywhere on his body. The only thing that he saw was his unusual scar.

Henry looked back at Abe as he re-buttoned his shirt. He wanted to ask him about his experiences. Henry sighed and decided against it. Likely, Abe didn't know what had happened either.

Abe slowed down to a near stop near Pitt and Rivington. Remembering Pitt was the last street that he had crossed, Henry leaned forward and reached over to the door's handle. He wanted to see if any of the answers lied in the park near Stanton. Just as he opened his mouth to ask Abe to stop the car and let him out, the sight of a pair of patrol cars and an officer directing traffic discouraged his request. Henry tried to peer down both roads, but police cars and a CSU unit blocked his view of the scene. He huffed in frustration as Abe pulled away from the last street. Whatever secrets that the park had would remain hidden for eternity.

He leaned back in his seat. There were two possible explanations for what was happening: a break with reality or a dream. They, however, didn't explain everything. If he had a psychotic break, he would be under the supervision of Bellevue's psychiatrists. If it were a dream, he would had known it when he had regained consciousness. Henry sighed. He didn't know any more about his circumstances than what he did when he first found himself in the East River. _Then again, why was I in the river naked?_

He inhaled. He shouldn't overthink it. He had miraculously survived the shooting, and he would be reunited with everyone soon. That was all that mattered.

Abe pulled into Katz's parking lot, and the two men got out. Henry removed the damp blanket and towel from the seat. Abe took the items from him, and they began to walk home.

An inexplicable, intense fear suddenly seized Henry and refused to let go. He barely believed that he had died and come back to life himself. _What will everyone think if I were to tell them? Will they believe me, or will they find me mad as Nora had done?_

He wanted to run as far as he could, hoping that they would never find him. Yet, he willed himself to continue in the direction that he was travelling. The last time that he had run, it almost had catastrophic consequences. He should head back and tell everyone what had transpired. They could make whatever decision that they would, but they would at least know the truth.

As he saw the contours of the shop, Henry sighed. He didn't know what would happen in the next few minutes. Perchance everyone would believe him.

* * *

The first thing that Henry noticed as he and Abe arrived at the shop was that the lights were on. Abe opened the door with ease. Henry, on the other hand, felt a cold chill run through his body. He wanted to say something about the shop's security; his attacker could have taken shelter in there. Abe's smile stopped him and caused him to somewhat relax. Abe wouldn't lead him into danger, would he?

He led Henry through the shop and up the stairs. Soon, the other man walked toward the bedrooms, leaving Henry alone in the living space. He sighed and decided to go to the living room. As he walked toward the room's entrance, he inhaled, and his mouth opened. The two detectives and his assistant were sitting on the sofa, almost as if they were waiting for his arrival. When he met their eyes, he saw their own surprised expressions.

Lucas and Mike rose from their seat first. Lucas quickly closed the distance between them and threw his arms around Henry, who awkwardly returned the gesture. A moment later, he felt Mike's hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"Henry!" Jo walked up to him and embraced him. As he closed his arms around her, a few of her tears fell onto his cheek. He pulled her closer to him as if it would take away all of the pain that he had caused her. She tightened her hold on him, almost as though she was afraid of losing him again. He closed his eyes, held her, and rubbed her back in the relative silence of the room.

 _Silence?_ Henry opened his eyes. He couldn't hear the clock on the mantle ticking. His hearing was fine; he could hear electricity buzzing through the floor's lights and appliances. _What happened to the clock? Is it broken?_

He didn't want to let Jo go, but this new mystery reminded him of recent events. He reluctantly pulled away from her and looked at the group. She returned to the sofa and took a seat next to Mike. Henry noticed that Abe had set a chair from the kitchen at the end of the sofa and joined them.

As a cold chill ran through his body, he walked into the kitchen. He turned around, looked at them in the room, and took a deep breath. Tonight would be the last night that fear ruled him.

He walked into the room and sat down in the chair opposite them. He felt uncomfortable there, so he rose and began pacing. He bit his lip and then inhaled.

"This sounds implausible." He sighed. "Actually, you won't believe me." He looked at them. Their eyes were trained on him.

His voice caught in his throat as he remembered what had happened. He broke his gaze so he could calmly continue, and he resumed pacing. "I died." He inhaled to compose himself. "And, um, somehow, I returned to life. I returned to life in the river, and I instinctively swam to shore. When I climbed out, I was naked." He stopped. "Does that sound insane?"

He gathered the courage to look at everyone. The last time that he had looked at them….

"No, it doesn't."

Henry turned toward Jo's voice and studied her. Her eyes showed no fear or doubt. If anything, they had a confidence and a peace about his claims.

He then looked at the rest of the group. He expected to see confusion, concern, and disbelief in their eyes. As he looked at them, he saw none of those feelings. Instead, he saw something that he couldn't believe—belief, acceptance, and even relief.

Henry inhaled and resumed a slow pace as he realized that they _knew_ of this. "This has happened before." That explained Henry's instinct to swim, Abe's knowledge of what Henry needed, and the patrol officers' reaction. Everything was so effortless that it was almost like they had been repeatedly practiced. "On more than one occasion."

If he didn't stay dead tonight… "I can't die. I mean, I can, but I always come back to life a short time later." He stopped. It would explain why he suddenly remembered being underwater and needing air; it was part of his return to life, like it was tonight. "It always occurs in the same way." Even the nakedness.

He looked at them. Everyone nodded in agreement.

If he couldn't die, that meant only one thing…

"Immortal?"

Henry slowly lowered himself into the chair facing them and let his mind absorb the news. Immortality—it was human nature to desire to live forever, to be able to cheat death out of another victim. It was so rare that he had believed that it was merely a myth. Yet, tonight, he learned that he was living proof that it existed. Somehow, he had received it at some point in his forgotten past.

He inhaled and let it out as his eyes drifted to the coffee table. It was no wonder why he had readily considered the liabilities of the gift that he had been given. He must have encountered them so frequently in his past that the belief of immortality being a curse had become ingrained into him. If he were to guess when his view point had changed, he would say that it had occurred very early in his immortal life, and what he had remembered from his life with Nora was the precipitating incident.

He looked back up at everyone. At some point in his past, though, he had told them and Abigail that he was immortal. They certainly had struggled with the knowledge of it, and, if his nightmare last night contained elements of the truth, Abigail had died because of him. Yet, their presence in his life demonstrated their decisions to cast their lots with him regardless of the consequences of immortality in their own lives.

Henry looked them in the eye. "This is the element of my life that I've been missing."

He shook his head in astonishment. In spite of seemingly everlasting pain and sorrow, he must had discovered some joy in his life if he shared it with these five people. Six, if Lt. Reece knew about it. He and Abigail had been happily married for, obviously, a long time, and he even had a son.

His mind wandered to his memory of his child. The boy shared many facial features as….

He looked at Abe. The realization hit him with enough force that he suddenly leaned back in the chair.

"You're my son?!" That explained why Abe had been so upset over the past couple of weeks, especially when he had called Henry "Dad". It also explained Abe's visits while he had been hospitalized and why he had sometimes felt that their roles didn't match their ages.

Henry briefly closed his eyes. It was parental nature to look back at the key moments of a child's life—no matter how long they lived—with equal parts pride and questioning. He wished that he could remember all of the moments in Abe's. As he was the British doctor who had taken Abe and raised him as his own, Henry wanted to remember the moment that he had decided to risk discovery and give Abe a better life. He longed to remember when Abigail had laid eyes on the child and decided to raise him as well.

 _Wait. I never saw that moment. How…?_

Hoping for a clue, Henry walked over to the fireplace to look at their picture. As he neared the mantle, a golden object caught his eye. He picked it up and recognized that it was the pocket watch that he had seen on his end table when he had first come home from the hospital. Was this what Jo had meant by "your pocket watch" during their trip to the observation deck a few days ago?

At that moment, he saw a man—his father—giving him the watch and dying. As the flashback ended, he looked back at the group. Everyone and everything began to prick, prod, and needle something in his memory. Every subconscious stirring threatened to overwhelm him. He placed the watch on an end table and quickly headed for the folding door.

Sensing everyone's eyes on him, he stopped in the threshold and faced them. "After what had happened, I have no intention of leaving the building." He inhaled. "I need time to process this." With that, he raced through the kitchen to seek some relief from the irritation that he was feeling.

* * *

He stopped on the landing and peered into the shop's retail area. Each piece and even the windows pricked and needled his memory. He turned around and closed his eyes to keep from feeling overwhelmed. Where could he go so that he could think?

His eyes flew open. The basement. Abe stored the surplus inventory in nondescript boxes there. Energized by the thought, he raced toward the room.

As he descended the stairs, he wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. Bookcases and cabinets lining the walls greeted him. In a far corner to his right, he saw a desk under the streetlamp-lit ribbon windows. What was an office doing here?

He gingerly stepped into the office and looked around. In the middle of the room sat a settee and a table and chair. Another table with various test tubes, beakers, and taxonomic samples sat against a wall. Lining that wall was most of the same medical equipment that he had been connected to in the hospital.

This obviously was a laboratory. He didn't remember Abe mentioning it, so it must be…his?

He took another look around the room. He immediately recognized it as the same room which he had seen when he had received the news about his carbon monoxide poisoning.

He inhaled. There was a perfectly logical explanation for it. Perhaps he used the lab to analyze substances while away from work, especially if time was of the essence.

A chalkboard caught his eye. Entranced, he walked over to it. When he drew near, his legs suddenly started to give way. He grasped the edge of the desk to steady himself. He studied the information, and his stomach churned. Had he been so distraught by his losses and others' rejection of him that he had sought a way to end his immortality—and his life?

He inhaled and took a second look at it. Apparently, he hadn't since October 2014. The date was listed at the bottom of the board. If he had continued his interest, he would have either erased the chart and started over or modified it to fit in the additional dates.

His eyes landed on a note which expressed uncertainty about one death on September 24, 2014, that had lasted four minutes. He pressed his lips together in thought. The other deaths had lasted less than three minutes. Why was that one different? Then again, did it or the last one influence his decision to discontinue his research?

Feeling stronger, he released the desk. He looked down and noticed that his hand was caked with a thin layer of dust. When he had the opportunity, this place would be dusted.

He began to pace. Immortality explained all of the things that had felt surreal to him and why everyone else felt the need to hide it from his negative impulses. Jo had failed to obtain medical assistance for him because of his tendency to die and disappear. People's concerns for his mental wellbeing as well as the physical aspect of his deaths had likely caused them to fear what would happen if he had believed them and tried to prove his immortality to himself in public. The photographs of him, Abigail, and an infant Abe and the one from 1865 demonstrated his agelessness. At the same time, the strange flashes, his hallucinations, his daydreams, and his unusual knowledge were indeed memories from a long life spanning 188 years.

Revise that. Lucas hadn't shown any indication of lying when he had said that Henry was alive in the early 1800s. Assuming that he was in early to mid-thirties at the time—.

Then again, the portrait from 1794 indicated that he was a teenager when it was painted. If that were the case….

The thought forced him to sit down on the settee. It was suddenly clear as to why he had felt a strong connection to the Henry Morgan who was born in 1779.

The man was him.

He swallowed as he fought back tears. He had seen his tombstone for the first time. His family, likely Nora, had believed that he was dead when…

His eyes darted around the room as he remembered the tombstone's inscription. April 7, 1814, was the date of his first death. _How…?_

 _I was shot_.

The memory of his confession to Jo—in the middle of a crowded bar—stirred something. He recalled the appearance of his scar. The stimpling and the main wound were consistent with William Ashbrooke's fatal wound. The other scars suggested that the bullet had shattered upon impact.

Henry suddenly saw an encrusted flintlock pistol laying in a box on his desk in his office. A bullet from it could create that specific type of wound.

He took a deep breath as he placed his hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat. He recalled the sense of familiarity that had washed over him as he had read the article about _The Empress_.

He had lived it.

 _Lived it_. With those words in his thoughts, the floodgates opened.

 _His childhood and adolescent years in London. His breeching on his sixth birthday. His time at St. Paul's School. His decision to attend Oxford to become a doctor. Opening his own practice. His involvement in the abolitionist movement, first at his parents' side and then on his own. His siblings' deaths and his mother's years later. Meeting Nora and falling in love with her. Their wedding and life together as husband and wife. Life in London during the Napoleonic War. The days he spent with friends in the Diogenes Club._

 _Learning about his family's involvement in the slave trade and his decision to do everything he could to end it. His father giving his pocket watch to Henry moments before his death. Boarding The Empress of Africa as the ship's doctor. Setting the slave revolt aboard the ship into motion. The call to treat a feverish slave. The captain shooting him for refusing to throw his patient overboard. His first death and awakening in the North Atlantic Ocean. His rescue by the crew of the San Carlos del Rey. His journey through Spain and France with the correspondents from Nithercott and Company. Returning home to London and to Nora. Nora's disbelief about his immortality and her having him committed to Bedlam. Charing Cross. Southwark Prison and his escape with the help of his Catholic priest cellmate. His decision to work in a hospital. His time with the Hudson Bay Company. Traveling through Europe. Returning to London in the 1860s. The East Belmont fire which resulted in his picture in the newspaper. Nora trying to kill him to reveal his immortality to the world. Jack the Ripper._

 _Henry's first time in New York City in 1889 and his decision to stay in the United States. Life in the Lower East Side tenements. Each move that he had to make. Every friend he made. Every woman he had fallen in love with. His life being interrupted by either a public death and awakening or an aged previous acquaintance. Every language that he spoke. Everything he had learned over the years. His reaction to every technological advancement and to every advance in medicine, criminology, science, mathematics, psychology, anthropology, archeology, and sociology. Every death that he had died and every awakening that he had._

 _The Gilded Age. Life in Europe during the Boer War. Being partners with James and James' death from tuberculosis. His adventures with the Explorers Club. World War I. The Roaring Twenties. Paris in 1929. The Great Depression. World War II breaking out in Europe. American immigration acts forcing him to forge government documents so that he could continue his life in the United States without arousing suspicions. Pearl Harbor. Being drafted into the Army. D-Day. His journey into Europe's interior as an Army medic for the Americans and the British._

 _Seeing Abigail and Abraham for the first time. Deciding to adopt Abraham. Falling in love with Abigail. Abigail discovering his immortality and her acceptance of it. Their move to New York City. Raising Abraham. Gloria Carlisle encouraging Henry to propose to Abigail. Their wedding and interrupted honeymoon aboard the Orient Express. His decision to quit his career in medicine because of his immortality. Sending Abraham off to Vietnam and then Berkeley. His and Abigail's life as empty nesters. Their last public date resulting in Abigail's tears as people refused to acknowledge that their marital bond. Learning about Abraham's marriage to and divorce from Maureen Delacroix—twice. The day Abraham moved back home. The day Abigail left them and Henry's year-long search for her. Thirty years of experimenting on himself to see if he could permanently die. The years that he worked as a gravedigger._

 _Learning that Abraham had opened the antiques shop. 9/11. His decision to become a medical examiner. Studying at the University of Guam. Being hired as a deputy medical examiner with the OCME. Meeting Lucas. Every death that he and Lucas investigated for the OCME._

 _The fatal train crash which killed him and 15 others three days after his 235th birthday. Jo walking into the OCME for the first time. Adam's first call. Meeting Mike during his and Jo's first case together. Meeting Lt. Reece a few weeks later. Abraham exploring the idea of using Aterna to become immortal himself. Telling Jo about Abigail and Jo talking to him about Sean. Gloria Carlisle's death. Being in Alphabet City's tenements for the first time since the 1890s. His, Jo, and Abe's first dinner on the rooftop of the antiques shop. The Jack the Ripper copycat. Tyler Forrester's death. Abraham nearly leaving with his ex-wife Maureen for a third time. Meeting Molly Dawes as Iona Payne. Investigating the death of Pepper Evan's son Isaiah Williams. Abraham attending Lyle Ames' funeral to pick up Fawn Mahoney-Ames. Adam kidnapping and killing him. Adam manipulating him into taking Clark Walker's life. The death of Jason Fawkes and Abraham's reconnection with his Army buddies Marco Fawkes and Jerry Charters. Jo investigating the murder of Sean's informant Aaron Brown. Adam giving Abraham a ledger with his biological parents' names in it. Armen Aronov's murder. Learning that Abraham was his first cousin several times removed. His and Molly's first and only date. Hackers nearly exposing the gaps in his resume. Henry and Jo's budding friendship. Isaac Monroe raising the contents of The Empress of Africa. Adam's theory that an immortal can be killed with the same weapon that he was originally killed with. Isaac and Jo's relationship and subsequent breakup after Henry's suggestion of getting lost in Paris. Abraham's investigation in Abigail's disappearance. Finding Abigail's remains and learning that she killed herself in 1985 to protect Henry from Adam. Abigail's funeral. Henry's desire to avenge Abigail's death. Adam threatening Jo as she investigated who stole Adam's pugio from the museum. Henry and Adam's confrontation. Jo showing up at the antiques store with Henry's pocket watch and the photo of the Morgans in 1945._

 _Telling Jo, Lucas, Mike, and Lt. Reece about his immortality. Their reactions and eventual acceptance of the truth. Adam being cured of his air embolism. A couple of romantic relationships that ended when he saw that the women would not be able to handle his secret. Adam firing a high-powered rifle into the antiques shop. Every case that he has handled for the NYPD. Abraham's absence from the dinner table two nights a week for ten of the past twelve weeks. Everything that had happened over the past couple of months._

He remained motionless as memory after memory flowed past him. Sure, they told of a life filled with more than his fair share of hardship caused by others and of excessive sorrow caused by himself. At the same time, it was punctuated with moments of immense joy and breathtaking wonder. Of fulfilled dreams and second chances. Of finding pleasure in life's simple things. Of everlasting love and steadfast loyalty. Of happy times shared with family and friends and of emotional and moral support in times of need.

As the memories of his past joined those from the last two weeks, he briefly closed his eyes. He _remembered everything_.

Relief and joy jockeyed for position as tears of joy streamed down his face. He had thought that he would spend the rest of his life unable to remember his past and dismissing some of his memories as hallucinations. Yet, tonight, everything had returned as though they had been brought back from the dead.

He wiped his tears and placed both hands on his lap. After the night's events, everyone was likely worried about him. He ecstatically rose from the settee and bounded toward the stairs to tell everyone the good news.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : This is why I saved Henry's river of memories for this chapter. To me, it would had been too easy to have his memory fully restored in the moments before his death. As for the slight delay in its return, I will deal with it in another chapter.

It kind of feels weird to say this, but I have four more chapters left in the story. (I've been working on it since October 2015, so, yeah, it does feel a little strange.) I have quite a few loose ends to tie up, and I plan to do so in the coming chapters.

In case you're wondering about the author's note that opens the chapter, it was about Henry's discovery that he's naked. I actually mentioned in Chapter 5's flashback that he hadn't noticed his nakedness until Pedro had told him about his rescue. So, I decided to let the events parallel each other.

Eleven meters is 36 feet. According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association's nautical chart for the Hudson and East Rivers, some places in the East River can be as deep as 65 feet (19.8 meters). In the part of the East River where Henry emerges, it's about 45 feet (13.7 meters) in depth. I don't know how deep Henry usually is when he is reborn, so I just guessed.


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

Henry smiled as the aromas of his espresso and Jo's café latte mingled pleasantly in his nose. He could get used to this.

With almost every woman whom he had courted or married, he had discovered what romantic gifts surprised her primarily through trial and error. In Abigail's case, she had telegraphed it with her longing looks at various plants, and he was still amazed that she didn't discovered the hellebore which he had stowed in his trunk before he had presented it to her in New York. Yet, merely four days ago, he had stumbled onto one of Jo's preferred romantic gifts, and he had every intention to surprise her with it for as long as they were together.

He set the coffees and the journal on her desk and rummaged through her paperwork to find her notepad. He sighed as he observed the mess. She might have an idea where she kept it currently, but, unless it was in a drawer, he couldn't see it. He would have to take a sheet of paper from a nearby printer for his note.

He looked over at the device. He didn't wish to disturb the officers' conversation about the college basketball championship game last night. Perhaps he should wait for her return to give her the coffee. Seeing the look on her face when he presented it to her would be worth the brief delay in his arrival at work.

Henry suddenly felt someone hovering near his shoulder. "Want to write Jo another love note?"

He jumped at the sound of Mike's voice. His cheeks warmed, and the skin under a favorite blue paisley cashmere scarf that Jo had given him suddenly itched. He willed himself to maintain his decorum as he turned to his colleague. "To be honest with you, yes."

Mike set his coffee down on his more immaculate desk, tore a clean page from his notepad, and handed it to Henry. He studied the immortal. "So, how does it feel to, well, you know?"

Henry grinned as he scribbled a note expressing his loving thoughts. "It feels excellent."

Admittedly, he was still giddy and elated from the night's events. It felt as though the significance of the miraculous end of his amnesia hadn't set in yet. When it would, hopefully the heavy burden which he had carried for the majority of his life would never return.

Behind him, he heard a scuffle and two officers attempting to calm an irate man with a very familiar voice. He turned around and immediately recognized his assailant.

The man's eyes widened, and he paled as he slowed to a stop. "You're supposed to be dead!"

The officers looked at the man. "What?"

"I shot that guy in the chest last night!" He nodded toward Henry. "He's not supposed to be alive!"

"Yeah, right." The officers nudged him forward.

 _Squinting, a slight decrease in respiratory function, loud speech, irritability. Although his last drink was about thirteen hours ago, the man is still drunk. It is no wonder that the officers didn't believe him_.

Henry watched as the trio eased around him and moved toward an interrogation room. Honestly, his assailant was more fortunate than he had been. With the exceptions of Father Timothy and James Carter, it had taken him almost 130 years to begin to find people who believed the story of his life. In contrast, his assailant would be able to freely tell his story to someone who would believe him, even if it meant relating it to an officer of the law, today. Hopefully, that would be enough to comfort the other man in the times where others would find him to be insane because of the story's incredible nature.

Henry looked back at Mike. The detective arched his right eyebrow and mouthed, "Your attacker?"

He nodded in confirmation. Mike watched the two officers and the suspect disappear down a hallway. The two investigators then exchanged looks that acknowledged the need for Lt. Reece's involvement in the other man's questioning.

Henry glanced away and wrinkled his eyebrows. Ordinarily, comments like the ones that were just uttered would have produced a panicked run to the shop, a rapid packing of suitcases, and a hasty selection of a different country to live in. A panic which only Abe and Jo could calm after they intercepted him at any point during his flight. Surprisingly, he didn't feel the impulsive need to move…and it wasn't because of his knowledge about the man's drunken state.

Why was that the case?

He turned back at an amazed Mike. He gave the detective a lopsided smile that he hoped expressed his simultaneous astonishment at and uncertainty about the situation.

A whiff of Jo's café latte sent a thought through his mind. "Jo's in the restroom, isn't she?"

Mike raised his hand and continued to stare at him. "I don't want to even know how you know that."

Henry grinned. It was quite simple. Jo's coat and scarf were hastily slung over her chair, suggesting that the basic urge had struck her just before she had started her work. Given the limited number of stalls, the number of women whom he had heard when he had passed the room, and the amount of "girl talk", as Jo called it, that women were capable of, he only hoped that she would return to her desk before her coffee cooled.

He glanced up and noticed Lt. Reece walking toward the bullpen. He swallowed. He needed to tell her everything that he could remember from the time that he had witnessed William Ashbrooke's murder until the moment that he had lost consciousness. For the first time in his immortal life, he was unexpectedly less frightened of the consequences of admitting the truth and more nervous about the ramifications of his testimony on Jo's cases.

* * *

Lucas rubbed his face as he walked down the hall toward the break room for some coffee. He had slept so hard that everything about last night—including his celebratory hug when Henry had told everyone about the return of his memory—had felt like it was a dream. It was surprising that he didn't sleep through his alarm.

He glanced up and noticed Jeff strolling toward him. A tinge of jealousy filled him. Henry was _his_ friend, yet Henry and Jeff had hit it off immediately. What was it about Jeff that had made Henry to open up so fast?

 _Stop it_. Jeff had been with the OCME for almost as long as Henry, and the past week and a half was the first time that they had talked to each other. In contrast, it had taken three years, one death and rebirth, Jo's presence in the OCME, Adam's first phone call, and Adam's first gift for Henry to begin opening up to Lucas. Not to mention, he was one of the trusted guardians of the secret of immortality.

Besides, Jeff liked Lucas too, and being around him was better than working with most of the other MEs. He shouldn't forget that.

"Hey, Wahl!"

Jeff's excitement stopped Lucas in his tracks. "What?"

"I know that you're a part of several betting pools, so you might be interested in what I've overheard this morning." Jeff grinned. "A couple of cops had seen Henry taking a cup of coffee to Detective Martinez's desk twice within the past week, and one mentioned that the second time was about a couple of hours ago. I also overheard a third cop brag to his friends that he had caught Henry and Detective Martinez right before they were about to kiss in the parking lot near Corlears Hook Park over the weekend."

 _Huh? Henry and Jo?_ _Kiss?_ "Right before? What do you mean? Starting to lean in? Halfway toward each other? Lips touching?" Each distance was accompanied by a pantomime. "Come on! Give me some details!"

"Henry was most of the way across the seat and still moving toward her. Another couple of seconds, and they would have been kissing."

Lucas' jaw dropped. He _knew_ that Henry was hiding something when they had discussed their weekend while re-examining Titus' body. He had always figured that Henry and Jo was taking it slow because of the entire mortal-immortal thing, but he had never thought that things between them would heat up fast after they had confessed their love to each other.

Excitement propelled him toward Jeff. "People owe me forty dollars."

"They owe Tori and me forty as well." He looked at the other man and smiled. "If you're becoming my assistant's boyfriend and work spouse, I should call you by your first name, Lucas."

Lucas' eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Jeff rarely called the assistant MEs by their first names. As far as he knew, Tori was the only one who had received that honor…until now.

Jeff slapped a hand on his shoulder, snapping Lucas out of his shock. "Come on. Let's collect our bets. You can give Tori hers."

Lucas smiled as they headed for the first person whom they saw in the hallway. He should have never doubted Jeff's friendship—not even for a minute. This could be the start of their own beautiful little group within the OCME.

* * *

Lucas counted his collected bets as he walked into the autopsy room and whistled. The cash would pay for this month's rent, a fancy date with Tori, a considerable number of supplies for his films, and even a glass of the good stuff if they went somewhere that sold it. The only person's that he was missing was Dr. Washington's, and he was going to enjoy collecting that bet when the rude M.E. returned to work.

He glanced around the room, quickly pocketed his winnings, and began to change into his scrubs. Henry shouldn't know about this. The immortal might lecture him on the moral evils of gambling.

Just as he finished pulling his top down, he heard footsteps behind him. He inhaled and braced himself for the coming questions—or scolding, depending on what Henry had seen.

"Lucas." Henry's accent halted any thoughts and forced Lucas to turn around. "Do we still have Gene's belongings?"

"Yeah. Let me get them."

Lucas started toward the room when a glint caught his eye. He studied his boss. Henry wore a white dress shirt, red tie, and waistcoat under his open lab coat. The chain of his pocket watch glistened against the navy blue suit. Lucas turned toward Henry's office. His coats and a blue paisley scarf were perfectly draped over his chair.

He raced toward Henry and threw his arms around the older man. "Last night wasn't a dream."

Henry awkwardly and briefly returned the gesture. "Please let go of me before people begin speculating that I plan to get myself a new scarf in the very near future."

At that second, Lucas smelled a strong stench, much stronger than last night's odor. He let go of Henry and fanned some fresh air toward his nose. "You didn't."

Henry leaned toward the assistant ME and lowered his voice. "I confirmed that Gene didn't die from a drug overdose." He straightened up and looked at his assistant.

Lucas didn't want to know the details about that death just yet. He usually enjoyed hearing about them, but witnessing last night's still had a Darth Vader-like grip on him. "Gotcha. Gene's belongings."

When he returned with the box, Lucas studied the immortal as he fished the clothes out of it. It was hard to believe that they had almost lost him forever last night. Even if the night's events proved that Henry couldn't die permanently, Lucas needed to get some things off of his chest.

He inhaled. "Um…"

Henry stopped the arrangement and snapped his head up in surprise.

 _Here goes_. "You know, I've always thought of you as an older brother. A much older brother, but still a brother. When it looked as though you were guilty of William's, Brent's, and Gene's murders, I knew that you couldn't have done it. I, um, I—." This was harder than he thought.

Henry mulled it over for a moment. Then, the look he always got when he'd pieced together the latest case crossed his face. "That's when you decided to conduct your own investigation by reenacting Brent's death." He then smiled and clasped a hand on Lucas' shoulder. "You've done a magnificent job!" He lowered his hand onto the table. "And I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude."

Lucas grinned. "You're welcome!" He knew exactly how Henry could repay him. "Does this mean that I get to play the murderer during our next reenactment?"

Henry glared at him.

If looks could kill, then Lucas wished that _he_ were immortal. "Forget that I asked."

Henry picked up the coat, examined it, and bit his lower lip in thought. A few moments later, he muttered, "I had assumed that this was manually torn during Gene's murder…."

Inspiration struck him. He dashed back to his office and exchanged coats. As he headed back into the room, he motioned to Lucas. "Take a scalpel and come at me."

"What?"

Surprisingly, Henry didn't roll his eyes. "When I had noticed the rip in Gene's coat, I had assumed that his attacker had grasped the lining and jerked on it during their struggle. The lining is made from silk—."

Lucas whistled. "Gene had expensive tastes."

Henry shook his head. "It's an older coat. The buttons aren't as shiny, and the buttonholes are starting to show signs of fraying. Based on its appearance, I would say that it was from Paul Stuart's spring 2006 collection. I had pored over the catalog when I had spent a break here in New York—."

Henry would have to tell him the rest of the story later. Right now, the immortal's observations didn't make sense. "Why did the lining tear?"

Henry pulled himself out of the past and seemingly remembered his surroundings. "It's why I want you to come at me."

Lucas couldn't believe his ears. Was he really granting his request?

He quickly found a scalpel and placed it in his right hand. "So, I'm coming at you with a knife, intending to brutally murder you for whatever nefarious reason that is in my head."

He eagerly charged at Henry with the scalpel. The doctor hooked his arm over Lucas' and pushed it down. The motion caused Lucas to loosen his already awkward grip. He quickly retightened it and tried to "attack" Henry once again. When he successfully repositioned the blade, Henry turned and placed his hands on both the scalpel and Lucas' hand. They began to struggle. As Lucas tried to lunge toward Henry, the scalpel caught on Henry's open coat.

Suddenly, he heard metal tearing fabric. They stopped and looked at each other.

Henry looked down and scrutinized the tear. "Arturo will be furious if he saw this."

 _Furious_. That was an understatement. From what Lucas had heard over the years, Henry's tailor believed himself to be an artiste. If Arturo saw a tear, Henry might be getting a new NYPD sweat suit instead of one of the luxurious three-piece suits from Paul Stuart.

Lucas moved the scalpel into his left hand and laid it down on a tray. "You can always bury it in the back of your closet to keep from accidently wearing it to a fitting. I used to do that when I was younger when I didn't want to wear the stuff that I tore…or outgrew."

Henry smiled. "I might if I'm unable to mend it myself. In any case, I need to replace another suit. It would provide me with an excellent opportunity to look at Paul Stuart's new collection in person." The look on Henry's face suggested that he might be shopping for a suit or a scarf that would impress Jo when they went on their first—or second, depending on what else they had done over the weekend—date as well.

 _If Gene didn't die then_ … "How did Gene die?"

"Like this." Henry wrapped both hands around Lucas' throat.

"Okay!" Even if the grip was slight, it felt as though Henry's fingers were digging into the sides of Lucas' neck. "You made your point!"

"Guys."

At the unexpected sound of Jo's voice, Henry dropped his hands and turned toward her. "Jo!"

Henry grinned as he gazed into her eyes. She returned his smile, which converted his gaze into a dreamy-eyed look.

Lucas' throat protested the lingering effects of his boss' grip. He rubbed his neck to relieve the pressure, but it irritated his throat even more, causing him to clear his throat.

The lovers startled and slowly turned to him. Jo quickly sobered. "What did you find?"

"Gene's murderer had tried to kill him with a knife, likely the same Swiss dagger that was used to kill Brent. Gene had noticed what was happening and fended off the attack. Seeing that the advance had only torn the lining of Gene's coat, the killer tried again. After Gene successfully disarmed him, the man then strangled Gene with his bare hands. Gene's fall to the floor made it appear as though he had been knocked to the ground." Something told Lucas that Henry was remembering one of his deaths in that way.

Henry continued. "The early stages of putrefaction masked any antemortem bruising on Gene's neck and any postmortem petechiae. At the same time, we didn't observe a fracture of his hyoid bone, which suggested that Gene's killer had applied pressure to his carotid sinuses and induced a reflex cardiac arrest in a relatively healthy man. Both made determining Gene's cause of death very difficult."

Jo nodded and bit her lower lip. "Then, why did you and Lucas get sick while we were processing the scene? Decomposing bodies have never made you two that ill before."

 _Good question_.

Henry inhaled. "Carbon monoxide poisoning caused by methylene chloride."

Jo and Lucas exchanged confused looks and chimed, "What?"

For a split second, Henry looked as though he was on the verge of tears. "When an open container of methylene chloride sits in a poorly ventilated, windowless room, the fumes convert into carbon monoxide. Usually, the body's metabolism would efficiently eliminate toxins, but it ironically elevates the levels of the gas in the blood in this case. Death from cardiac arrest can occur in a matter of minutes."

He sighed. "I should have noticed a sweet odor in the apartment as well as that of sulfur." He moved his tongue to inside his cheek. "At the time, though, I was fortunate to recognize the latter, let alone my own name or that the two of you, Abe, and Mike were a part of my life. It's no excuse for not paying attention to my surroundings, but I know now why I had made the grievous error."

Lucas stared blankly at a spot just past everyone's feet. He couldn't believe that he had come close to reuniting with his grandmother and meeting Abigail, Sean, and everyone that Henry's mentioned since he had first started talking about his past.

"Jo." Henry's voice coaxed Lucas away from his slightly morbid thoughts. The young man noticed a faint smile on the older one's face as he locked eyes with the detective. "You saved not only Lucas' life but also those of everyone else who was in that apartment with your actions."

Lucas stared at the other man. He barely remembered what was going on around him after he had reentered Gene's apartment. The next thing that he clearly remembered was feeling a cold breeze blowing into the room and Jo squatting beside him on the floor and trying to convince him to go home. How did Henry, who wasn't in the room at the time, know that?

Jo opened and closed her mouth several times. "How…?"

Henry's smile widened. "For as long as I have known you, you have followed your instincts even when conventional thinking or professional protocol would suggest a different course of action or belief. In this case, preservation of evidence was paramount, but you knew that something was wrong and acted upon your observations. It's the only possible explanation for their being with us today."

Something in that statement snapped Jo out of her shock. "How long do you think that the can was open?"

Henry walked around the table and slipped his hands behind his back. "I would say no more than twenty minutes. It wouldn't have taken long to fill the closet. The closed opaque curtains in Gene's apartment prevented the natural decomposition of the fumes and allowed them to build up in the unopened apartment."

 _The entire situation sounds as though it could come from_ …. "It's a trap!" It wouldn't be the first time that they had walked into one.

Jo's eyes darted as she thought. "Someone didn't want us to discover who had murdered Gene. They went back to the apartment before you arrived and opened the canister then. Since CSU didn't find any prints on the can, we can assume that the killer had worn gloves—."

"—or wiped them off if he got some paint stripper on his hands while opening the container." Lucas supplied as he enthusiastically remembered one of his friends doing the same thing while they were filming their last movie. _Oh, this is what it feels like to be Henry when he's using his memory to crack a case!_

Henry began to pace. "The heater was still on in Gene's apartment when he was found. At the same time, the fire that hid Brent's true cause of death started near the stove. Both incidents indicate that the killer wanted us to believe that Gene's and Brent's deaths were caused by faulty appliances when a close inspection would reveal that they were in perfectly working order." His eyes grew slightly maniacal as he gestured. "Bea Perot had told Lucas and me that she was in the process of replacing Gene's carbon monoxide detectors as they had reached the end of their useful lives…."

Henry stopped and lost himself in thought. "Our killer knows the fire codes."

Jo looked at him. "We need to talk to Mark Sanderson."

Lucas stared at them in confusion. "The firefighter Marshall Gideons had mentioned?" The man had mentioned the other firefighter while they were examining the apartment's living room for more clues.

Henry and Jo nodded.

Jo turned to Henry as he fixed his suit. "Great. I wanted to ask you about something else."

He sped toward his office. As she started to follow him, she wrinkled her nose. "You went for _another_ swim this morning?"

Henry reached for his scarf and pulled it around his neck. "Abe wasn't pleased about waking up so early in the morning, but I let him choose where we ate breakfast."

She shook her head. "Only you would do something like that."

Henry grinned and then glanced at the assistant medical examiner. "Lucas—."

Lucas quickly pulled himself away from watching them. "Box up Gene's belongings and prepare the paperwork. Contact Hart Island so that they can bury him. Got it."

Jo turned to him. "Oh! In case you're wondering, your and Henry's patient made it out of surgery. The surgeon said that he would have died if you two didn't show up when you had."

Lucas' mouth and eyes widened. He was a hero? That had never happened before.

"Lucas!" Henry's voice warned him of a possibility of perpetually playing the victim during their re-enactments.

"Getting back to work."

While he passed him, Henry flashed a smile at Lucas. Pride rose up in the younger man. This was turning into one of the best days ever.

As he watched them leave the room, Lucas smiled. Things were finally back to normal. Well, almost normal. He needed to decide how to celebrate his favorite couple almost making out in public.

* * *

Jo looked over at Henry as they headed for the elevators. "Myron dropped off the ledgers this morning. He said that he didn't recognize the system, but he suspected that something was off." She chuckled as she handed him the books in question. "He also offered to do my taxes. I declined, saying that I had done them two months ago." During one of their difficult cases last month, she had considered using her meager refund to splurge on a glass of MacCallan 25. If Henry hadn't offered to pay for her drinks, she would have.

"He's only attempting to build his clientele. If I didn't prepare my own taxes, I would consider taking him up on his offer." Henry smiled as he hit the up button. "He's a good man, though. Even if Abe occasionally steers him in the wrong direction."

Jo smiled as Henry launched into a detailed account of Abe's role as ringleader in their, Marco, and Jerry's misadventures in crime-fighting. No one had believed it when Henry had burst into the kitchen claiming that he had regained his memory. Their stunned disbelief turned into joy as he told them how he had met them and a few details from his distant past that he had mentioned before. Abe was the first one to give Henry a congratulatory hug, and tears of joy streamed down his—and Henry's and Jo's—face when he called the older man "Dad" again.

When it was her turn, Henry whispered his apologies for the pain that he had put her through recently with his amnesia. The only thing that she had been able to do was to hold him tight and to reassure him that she had understood.

The doors opened, and Henry let her enter the car first. She wouldn't trade what had happened over the past two weeks for anything in the world. She now saw a peace and a confidence in his eyes that she had only caught fleeting glimpses of when he had become lost in either a case or a personal moment with her. She had always hoped that he would be able to find some peace one day, but she didn't expect that it would occur within her lifetime.

She lovingly fingered the note in her pocket. Confessing their love for each other, both four days ago and now, didn't hurt either. She could get used to his notes.

As he flipped through the pages and muttered, she could see his mind drifting far into the past. He pulled his mouth into a thin line. "I agree with Myron's assessment. This isn't a part of the double-entry bookkeeping system. In fact, this—" he shut it and waved it in the air "—is an invoice daybook."

"Huh?"

Before he could show her what he had meant, the elevator doors opened, and they left the car. "Historically, transactions of sales were recorded in one ledger instead of multiple ones as we have today. Each entry in a daybook would be grouped by person instead of by date." Three officers passed them, prompting a moment of silence. "Gene and Brent used the same system that I had used very early in my medical career, and I had learned it from Father. In their case, they had reversed the order of credits and debts since most transactions are now made with credit cards."

She nodded. "Given that Brent's a huge history buff, I can see that." She looked at him. "Out of curiosity, I watched a couple of episodes of _Watkins' Journeys_ last night since I couldn't sleep. The Frenchman's right; he does remind me of you. How can you tell that something is amiss?"

"This." He whipped out the journal, flipped it open to the precise page, and pointed to an entry dated two weeks before they had hired Titus. "The British classicist William Hogarth isn't as well-known as the Masters, but his paintings are usually valued between $3,000 and $10,000. I priced one a long time ago. I had wanted to buy it, but Abigail had protested, saying that she didn't care for it."

He would have to tell her the rest of the story later. "They had taken a loss. Do you suppose that one of our four victims had anything to do with it?"

He shook his head as they entered the garage. "They had no need for supplemental income. Brent and Walt had second jobs, and Gene was living off of the money from the sale of his parents' orange grove in California. Titus was waiting for the approval of his grant." He paused. "They had another cashier before they had hired Titus."

Jo sighed. At the rate that they were going, learning who it was would be impossible.

She studied Henry as they climbed into the car. Then again, miracles did happen. If last night's events had brought back both Henry and his full powers of observation and deduction, then anything was possible in this case.

As she pulled out of her parking space, she heard Henry inhale. "About last night…"

Jo pulled a breath in through her teeth. "Henry, you don't have to explain. You—."

He looked her in the eye. "I want to tell you." He wore the same expression that he had when he had told her the cause of his first death in the middle of McSorley's.

She nodded her permission to continue.

He inhaled. "When you had tried to simultaneously alleviate my frustration and jog my memory, my mind associated it with one of my 'treatments' in the asylums, mesmerism."

She pulled her lips together and stared at him. He had rarely talked about that period in his life. When he had, he had usually glossed over it.

 _Wait. Why do I remember mesmerism from my introduction to psychology class in college?_

It suddenly dawned on her, and she stifled her laugh. "I didn't accidently hypnotize you."

He started to chuckle. "You didn't. With your actions, I had retained my ability to think, whereas I still have no memory of what happened after the mesmerist whom the asylum doctors had brought in had put me to sleep. My subconscious, at the time, must have assumed that there were similarities between the two occasions, and it had prompted me to act as though you were a mesmerist."

She nodded. That would explain his reaction before everything happened. "When was this?"

He swallowed. "It was just before the doctors had resorted to more…aggressive…'treatments'."

She fought back her tears. The one time that he had reluctantly mentioned another treatment—during a case where a victim was waterboarded—she had become sick at the thought of him experiencing it once before.

She bit her lower lip. "Do I need to…?" She suddenly didn't know how to put it. She wanted to keep touching him, but, if he subconsciously misinterpreted it again one day…

"I highly doubt it." He gave her a lopsided smile. "It was my thoughts that had inadvertently triggered my memory of telling Nora about my condition. If it were to happen again, though, I completely trust you."

"You've been thinking about this since breakfast."

A nod confirmed her suspicions.

As she pulled up to the red light, she noticed that he directed his gaze to her floorboard. Thinking that the memories of being tortured were probably bothering him, she reached over, inserted her fingers into his soft, wavy hair, and began to massage the back of his head. A moment later, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. A grin grew on his face as he began to relax.

She smiled and filed the moment away in her memory. She was so using this, even if it was just to make him happy, for as long as they were together.

 _Honk!_

She jerked her hand away, quickly checked the light, and saw that it was still red. She glared in the rearview mirror to see who would interrupt her and Henry's private moment.

She spun around and stared at Mike in the car behind her. He pointed to his eyes and then at them. In the passenger's seat, Lt. Reece crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

Suddenly feeling flushed, she turned to Henry. His smile was agape as he shook his head in disbelief.

Someone in the car behind Mike blew their horn. Jo glanced up and realized the green light. As she pulled away from the intersection, Mike waved at her before they turned toward the hospital.

Henry grinned. "I would like to kiss you. If I didn't know any better, I would say that our attempts to do so in or near your car have been cursed."

Her jaw dropped. She hadn't noticed that.

She quickly picked her jaw up. "We can always do it later, like, let's say, on a date."

One look at him, and she could tell that he was definitely entertaining the idea. Hopefully, they could have one soon.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to the fire station. Jo quickly parked and entered the building. As she looked around, she recognized many of the same people who were there during her last visit.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Henry taking in everyone and everything. Hopefully, something would catch his attention.

Jo noticed Sanderson helping a couple of firefighters roll up some fire hose. "Mark Sanderson?"

Sanderson snapped his head up. "Detective? What brings you here?" He nodded toward Henry, who had joined her side. "Where's your partner?"

Jo squared her shoulders. "You told us that you and your crew were fighting the fire at Columbia and Grand. Did you notice anything unusual while you were there?"

Sanderson studied her and escorted them to an open spot near one of the engines. "Nothing in particular. Although…" He started to reach into his pocket for an e-cigarette but quickly lowered his hand. "I saw Pierce Gabor, one of our probies, at the scene. He had called in sick a couple of days before. Something about having the flu." The firefighter huffed. "Pierce was standing there talking and joking with his neighbors…perfectly healthy." Sanderson's voice rose. "I can't get time off or change shifts with anyone to go visit my cousin Walt in the hospital, and he got the time to goof off without any consequences."

"Walt? Walt Hunnicutt?"

The man nodded. "He's been taking care of our aunt Katie since the death of our uncle three years ago. Last night, she called me saying that she had come home to a house full of police officers. A homicide detective who was there told her that Walt was being taken to the hospital for a stab wound." His voice began to crack. "Walt had lost three of his friends and his job…and, now, almost losing his life. What had he done to deserve this?"

Jo bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze to the ground. She wished that she knew the answer to that question.

The realization of why the composite sketch looked so familiar dawned on her; she had seen him here a week and a half ago. Hoping that he could confirm it, she pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to Sanderson. "Is this Pierce?"

He took the paper out of her hand. "Yep, that's him. But why would NYPD homicide be interested in him?"

She looked over at Henry. He had a look of recognition on his usually schooled face.

She swallowed as she took the paper from Sanderson. She needed to talk to Henry as well.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : The information about methylene chloride is from the Slate article "Breathing Death". The information about 18th-century ledgers came from a Wikipedia article on double-entry bookkeeping and the National Museum of American History's "Baddledors, twig whips, and yards of thunder and lightning: Decoding a colonial ledger". The blog post is about an American merchant, but the system had to come from somewhere.

As for Henry's time in the asylums, I had learned through some research for another story that most of them were private in the very early 1800s. Since Henry was a gentleman (as mentioned by his cellmate in "Diamonds Are Forever"), I had figured that they would exhaust all possible conventional treatments first. Mesmerism was practiced in England at that time, but one could find only a few men who practiced it.


	39. Chapter 39

**Author's Note** : I hope that you will enjoy this chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

Jo inhaled as she leaned back in her car seat. She had been in impossible situations before, but not like this.

She studied Henry as he stared out the windshield, lost in thought. How many times had he investigated his own death? Even when they had first met, he had been randomly assigned to his latest one. Most people would have been driven crazy by the paradox, but, unless it was a brutal death, it had never seemed to be bothered him. She momentarily closed her eyes to draw strength from that thought as she always had after she had learned about his condition.

She sighed. Immortal or not, he was still the victim of a crime. Under ordinary circumstances, since he couldn't receive justice, he could at least receive a sense of closure. In this case, though, providing the latter could produce all sorts of problems and might even prompt him to move again…this time, leaving her behind forever.

Yet, it was his decision. As far as she knew, he could be thinking about something that she hadn't noticed. If that were the case…

"What do you want to do?"

He turned to her, and his gaze met hers. "I want to go with you. If our suspicions are correct, I don't want you to be without some form of backup, badge or otherwise. I'll try not to get myself killed again today, but—."

"You'll get help for me while you're being arrested again."

"Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that." He took her hand into his and squeezed it. "Besides, you're too important to me. I don't know what I would do if I were to lose you."

She tilted her head and smiled. What did she ever do to have him in her life?

As she pulled away from the parking lot near the fire station, she tightened the grip on her steering wheel. Henry was right, and, honestly, she was scared. Over the past few days, she had found herself imagining being in his arms at the "ripe old" age of 100. She didn't want die today, and she was willing to do everything within her power to prevent it. She inhaled, hoped for the best, and braced herself for what was going to happen next.

* * *

"Henry returned his journal this morning."

Mike swallowed as he tried to keep his mind on the traffic. How was he going to explain that, in the middle of all the excitement last night, he had forgotten to take it home with him? "About that…"

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "I'm a bit surprised that it made matters _worse_."

"Abe tried to warn us." He smiled at the memory of Henry recounting how he had met Karen and the boys and the Saturday afternoon when they had talked about his life. "I'm just glad that it led to Doc regaining his memory."

"Can you believe it?" It sounded as though she was more concerned about his assessment of the situation than her own belief. "Two men shot—one of them fatally—because of busted brackets?"

Mike inhaled as he found an aisle close to the door. Watching the events surrounding William Ashbrooke's murder on video was the first time that he had semi-witnessed Doc's apparent tendency to be shot while trying to help someone else. "Hearing his killer's version of it is a bit unsettling."

"And Henry's death?"

"As weird as it sounds, I think that I'm getting used to the idea of it not sticking." The first time that he had seen Doc die in front of him was a shock, and the second one was slightly less disturbing.

He swallowed at the memory of the latest one. "For a while, though, I thought that this one would have." He was relieved that it hadn't; he wasn't sure what he would do if Doc was gone forever.

Mike found a spot and pulled behind the car backing out of it. "Has he mentioned the painting in the evidence room?" He had wondered if Doc would eventually claim it since he had confirmed that it was a portrait of him as a teenager.

"He thanked me for having the thought that it would help, and he reassured me that the evidence room is the safest place for it, Adam notwithstanding."

That made sense. It was too large for the immortal to pack into a suitcase if he needed to move again.

Mike furrowed his eyebrows. Judging the look on Doc's face this morning, he might not be moving any time soon. In fact, he seemed _calm_ about his killer discovering that he was alive. That had never happened before. _What gives?_

"What do you plan to do with your bets?"

Lieu's voice broke through his thoughts in time for him to notice someone wanting his spot. He whipped into it, leaving the other driver to drive away dejectedly.

"I'm putting them toward my plumbing and hotel bills." He and Karen had already agreed to use their summer vacation money to pay for Henry and Jo's tickets to the observatory, and, to his surprise, his sons had volunteered to put their allowances toward them. "How about you?" The moment that the words had left his mouth, he wondered if he should have asked it.

Lieu shot him a look. "None of your business." As she pointed herself toward the entrance, she relented. "I might splurge on a bottle of MacCallan 25. I've been hearing that it was good."

Mike chuckled. "It sounds like Doc might have started a trend." To be honest, he wanted to try it himself one day, but one glass was way too expensive for his liking.

He looked at the hospital's façade. It was hard to believe that he was planning to visit Henry in Bellevue just two weeks ago. Then again, he still couldn't believe that it was just a week since they were hoping that Henry was being framed for three murders or that it was only last night when they thought that they would be burying him physically or mentally.

He sighed in relief. Fortunately, none of their worst fears had been realized. Doc was still with them, and he was back to normal…for him. Once their current cases were solved, then Lt. Reece would talk to her superiors about giving him and Jo some vacation time so that they could recover from everything that had happened over the past two weeks. After that, then he could keep tabs on Jo and Doc's new relationship. Someone had to shoot Doc and haul his naked, immortal butt to jail if he would hurt Jo in any way.

The phone's ring almost caused Mike to miss the doors opening. As he eased past a family leaving the building, he fished the device out of his pocket. "Yeah…..Um, are you sure that's a good idea?" He rolled his eyes in unexpected exasperation at Jo's response. "Okay…..Okay….. Talk to you later."

"Jo and Henry?"

He sighed as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "They got an ID on the composite sketch that Dean had given us. It turns out that he's a FDNY probie by the name of Pierce Gabor. They're going over to his place to question him."

"Hopefully, Pierce would tell them something." She quickly turned to the receptionist at the information desk and asked for Walt's room.

Mike looked around the room as he waited for her. Something about their description of Pierce's behavior seemed fishy. Perhaps….

They quickly headed to the elevators. "Maybe they might want to talk to him about the apartment fire."

Lieu scrutinized him. "You're thinking that he might be a suspect?"

He punched the up button. "I don't know." He wished that Pierce's background check wasn't a part of the backlog for the records department. "They had mentioned that he was at the scene while his crew was fighting it. Sometimes firebugs like to watch their fires being put out. There's a chance that he could be an arsonist."

He reached into his pocket for his phone again and quickly dialed Jo to tell them his theory. Each ring caused him to grow more impatient. The second that he heard her voicemail's message, he huffed and hung up. She must have turned it off for some reason.

Before he could inform Lieu, the elevator stopped. He followed his superior through the hallway and into Walt's room nearby. When he pushed back the curtain, he fought the urge to smile at the sight of Walt and his aunt talking about what they were watching on the TV. Fortunately, Walt had Doc to thank for saving his life.

The events surrounding that moment reminded Mike of the reason for his visit. He smoothed his suit. "Mrs. Sanderson?"

The older woman noticed their presence. "Detective? What brings you here?"

Lt. Reece extended her hand. "I'm Lt. Reece. We would like to ask Walt a few questions in regards to a homicide."

"Homicide?" Walt's halfway strong voice pleaded for answers and understanding. "I didn't do anything."

Mike studied him. For a moment, it looked as though he might be telling them the truth. He, however, couldn't rule him out as a suspect just yet.

Lt. Reece turned to the other man. "We know that you've worked with Brent Watkins, Gene Tomberlin, and Titus Forsyth. What was your relationship with them like?"

"Titus is my best friend. I haven't heard from him in a few days. I went over to his apartment on Sunday to see how he was doing, but he didn't answer the door."

"What do you mean?"

"We had planned to go to the movies this past Thursday. When I came by, he said that he wasn't feeling well. I told him that it was probably something that he had eaten and talked him into seeing this action movie that we both had been wanting to see. During the movie, he kept acting like that he wanted to throw up. We finally left the theatre halfway through the film. On the way back to his place, he had told me that he was going to the grocery store to find something for his stomach after he got home. Maybe he was feeling so ill that he went to the hospital."

He looked first expectantly and then in horror at the two investigators. "You don't think that I killed him?" His voice hitched. "I would never kill Titus."

"When did you leave the movie?"

Walt inhaled and winced in pain. "We left the theatre on First Avenue and 14th Street about 8:15."

Mike nodded. That would fit the time frame that Doc had given for Titus' time of death.

Lt. Reece placed her hand on the foot of Walt's bed. "How about your relationship with Brent and Gene?"

"They're cool. Brent has the best stories from his travels. Gene doesn't talk much about himself, but he is nice. He always asks me about my other job, and he lets me work extra hours to supplement my income."

Mrs. Sanderson looked at the two investigators. "The company that he is working for hasn't had many jobs lately. They are talking about layoffs. He's been looking for another job, but, so far, he hasn't found any." She sighed. "He's been helping me pay the mortgage on my townhouse. Ever since my husband died, my pension hadn't been quite enough to cover it." She patted her nephew's hand. "But, more importantly, he hasn't wanted to leave my side. He took the master bedroom because I couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in it without my husband."

"Did anyone know about this arrangement?"

"Just my other nephew Mark, but he wouldn't tell anyone."

Walt's eyes began to dart around the room. The young man swallowed as his aunt spoke.

"Where were you on both March 22 and 24?"

Walt gingerly shifted himself on his bed. "I was at work at my other job both days, taking care of some paperwork. You can check with my employer."

Mike planned to do that when they would return to the precinct.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Sanderson eyed both officers, her confused gaze shifting from one to the other.

Lt. Reece looked at the other woman. "All three men have been found murdered. Given that your nephew was attacked, we think that the two are related."

Mrs. Sanderson gasped. "They what?"

Mike ignored the question. "What about the Hodgkins map?"

Walt directed his gaze onto Mike. "Neither Brent nor Gene knew what it was. Titus had volunteered to take it to Baruch College to see if someone could authenticate it. Gene had allowed him to take it out of the shop the same day that Brent suddenly stopped answering his phone. I don't know what happened. I hope that he didn't pack—." The young man suddenly grew silent.

Mike and Lieu looked at each other. Mike turned back to Walt. "Pack up and run away before his death?"

Walt remained silent. He grimaced in pain as he appeared to be holding back tears.

Mike bit his lower lip. He needed another tactic.

"You and Titus were helping a friend renovate a couple of apartments in the complex at Columbia and Grand. Whose apartments were they?"

Walt stared at a space beyond the detective.

"What do you know about the fire there?"

Again, the man was silent.

Maybe another angle could produce the leads that they wanted. "Who attacked you yesterday?"

Walt said nothing.

Mike's patience began to grow thin. He rested his hands on the bed, taking care to not injure the young man. "We believe that your friend is behind the murders, the arson, and possibly more crimes," _including trying to run down a detective and a medical examiner_. "If you don't tell us who he is, we could charge you with being an accessory. Come on. Who are you protecting?"

Mrs. Sanderson leaned over the bed's railing. "Walt," she pleaded. "Please tell them. I don't want you to go to jail. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't ruin it."

Walt uncertainly looked at his aunt and then eyed the two officers warily. He nervously inhaled.

As Walt told them everything that he knew, Mike tried to keep his own nervousness under control. He hoped that Jo and Henry hadn't found themselves in danger again. He didn't want to think about what could happen to them.

* * *

Henry gulped as he mounted the stairs of the former tenement near the corner of Avenue D and East 8th Street, remaining as close to Jo as he could. Throughout their drive, he had tried to convince himself that this would be like every other interview that they had conducted in times past. If anything were to go wrong, as it had several times before, Jo was an excellent markswoman and perfectly capable of defending herself, any innocent civilians, and him. If she must take a second life today, he would be there to comfort her once again.

Still, since the moment that Mark had described Pierce's presence at the fire, Henry couldn't shake the feeling that their person of interest could turn the tables on them in a way that neither of them could anticipate. He had orchestrated the murders of three people and the attempted murders of many people associated with the law, including two of his friends and the woman whom he loved. Furthermore, as Henry had vaguely remembered when he had told Lt. Reece about the two days in which he had been missing, Pierce had kidnapped him and held him in the apartment on Columbia and Grand. The man had nothing to lose, and there was no reason to believe that he would voluntarily surrender if confronted. If anything, he might decide to eliminate the largest threat to his freedom…Jo.

"Henry?" Jo slightly turned her head toward him. "If you walk any closer to me, you would be on top of me."

One whiff of the sweet fragrance of coconut in her shampoo and the slight tickle of her hair on his cheek confirmed her observation. Under ordinary circumstances, he would take pleasure in the sensations. Right now, though, his fear for her was overwhelming everything else.

He permitted her to take another step before rejoining her. "Apologies. I was lost in thought."

He swallowed. He couldn't help but to notice the worry that had crept into his voice. Her own voice's slight tremble during her teasing remark and a glint of fear in her eyes proved his suspicions that, in spite of his feeble attempt at reassurance, she was still fretting about the outcome as well.

They landed on the last step leading to Pierce's floor. As Jo led him toward the apartment in question, Henry narrowed his eyes in confusion. The last time that he was occupied solely with thoughts of Jo's safety—without even the _slightest_ trace of fear about what would happen if he was exposed—she had been shot on Grand Central Station's roof. Couple that with what had happened earlier…

He had _never_ been this composed when his immortality was concerned before. What had happened to him after sleep had claimed him for the night?

He shook his head. He could dwell on that later. Now, he needed to keep his focus on Jo and his surroundings if they were to turn the tables on their suspect.

A few steps later, Jo stopped, knocked on the door, and identified herself as a member of the NYPD. Henry inhaled and drew courage from the hope that the situation might work out to their advantage.

The door cracked open. Henry resisted showing his surprise as his gaze drifted down to a petite, blonde-haired, green-eyed woman on the other side of the threshold.

Her eyes swept from one investigator to the other. "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong apartment."

As the resident began to close the door, Jo thrusted her arm into the crack. A moment later, she produced the composite sketch. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

The other woman's eyes widened, and she paled. "That's my boyfriend, Pierce." She looked at them and scoffed. "This has to be some sort of joke. What's going on here?"

Henry and Jo exchanged looks. He took one step toward the door. "We would like to have a word with you, Miss…?"

She nervously looked him in the eye. "Rachel. Rachel Fontaine."

Rachel slowly swung the door wider. As they followed her, Henry surveyed the apartment. Its wall-paper covered walls, updated kitchen appliances and cabinetry, and new light fixtures might have been more modern, but its layout had remained relatively unchanged since he had treated patients in the tenement over 125 years ago.

He quickly brought himself back to the present. He wouldn't be of any assistance to Jo if he indulged himself in his remembrances.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of their person of interest, Henry peered into every open room in the living space. He sighed. There was no other movement anywhere else.

Jo studied the young woman as they took their seats in the living room. "How long have you known Pierce?"

Rachel laid her hands on her lap. "Three years, and we've been dating for two." One glance at the pictures on the end table beside her chair and on the mantle behind her demonstrated that they had been living together for a little over a year.

"What has he told you about himself?"

Rachel squared her shoulders. "He was a human resource officer at Smith and Morley until their merger with Decker Financial two years ago. Shortly after that, he encountered one of his old friends from the company, Gene Tomberlin, at an estate sale. They started talking, and Gene offered him a job as a cashier. They and Brent frequent antiques auctions and estate sales…"

Henry glanced around the room. The mismatched thirty-five-year-old furniture stood out among the rest of the room's objects. Based on the new upholstery and the nicks on the legs, he would say that they were bought at estate sales and shoddily refurbished. Yet, Pierce and Rachel were somehow able to afford the apartment.

Keeping one ear on the women's conversation, he rose from his seat on the sofa and slipped over to the wall near the door. On the table against the wall, he quickly noticed a dull looking, metallic object reflecting off the same company photo that he had seen in Gene's apartment. Henry bent over and tilted his head to get a closer look at it.

 _ **Apartment at Columbia and Grand, Early Evening March 23**_

" _You're not from around here originally."_

 _Henry froze at the young man's question. What did he know about him?_

 _The other man smiled as he joined Henry in the kitchen. "Your accent isn't consistent. At times, I can hear a bit of a British one."_

 _Henry inwardly cursed his carelessness. He had been so intent on finding a way out of the puzzlingly locked apartment that he had allowed his true origins to slip._

 _He studied his fellow captive. The man appeared to be trustworthy. Perhaps he could take a chance and allowed him a part of the truth. Hopefully, the man wouldn't eventually betray him to their captor._

" _I'm not." His American accent instantly dropped with the words. "I'm originally from London."_

" _What part?"_

 _He smiled. It had been only a few years since he had last revealed it, and Jo had laughed at her erroneous assumption that Bath was located within the London city limits. "Lambeth."_

 _The man's eyes widened with delight. "Really? I prefer Southwark when I visit."_

 _He extended his hand. "Brent."_

 _Henry cautiously took it and shook it. "Henry."_

" _How long have you lived in the States?"_

 _Henry licked his lower lip. "About a decade. My father and one of his friends co-owned an antiques shop here in New York. Upon my father's death, he left me his half of the shop. I moved here to take over the business." He studied Brent for signs of skepticism about his story like Jo had given him when he and Abe had extemporaneously come up with it years before._

" _What type of antiques?" The man's neutral face indicated that he had appeared to have accepted it without question._

" _Mostly furniture, ceramics, and glassware." Knowing Abe, he was likely trying to sell one of his possessions to an unworthy customer right now._

" _My partner and I deal in posters and paintings. I try to run the shop as much as possible when my work allows me."_

" _What do you do?" Brent's hands and face revealed conflicting stories. He was well-tanned, suggesting some form of outdoor work, but his rather smooth hands and fingers hinted at indoor tasks._

" _I'm a travel writer for the Examiner and the host of a travel show on TV."_

 _Henry threw his head back in acknowledgement. That explained the inconsistencies._

 _Brent swallowed. "Jeff and Gene probably know that I'm gone."_

 _Henry looked Brent in the eye, and his heart started to break. Abe, Jo, Lucas, and Mike had likely noticed his own absence as well. To be honest, he wished that he was on a case with Jo, Lucas, and Mike and inviting Jo to the shop for dinner tonight instead of being held captive and fighting off the effects of the brake fluid that had been used to knock him out._

" _Let's find a way out of here."_

 _Hoping to find something to pick the lock, he started to open each of the kitchen's drawers. To his dismay, the first two contained only silverware while the rest were empty._

 _He huffed. There should be something small in one of them. Why would their captor keep so few possessions in the apartment?_

 _Upon opening the next to the last drawer, Henry narrowed his eyes in confusion. What was that doing there?_

 _He felt Brent peering over his shoulder. "What is that?"_

 _He turned to the other man. "A Swiss dagger. I haven't seen one of these since…" He caught himself before stating that it was during World War II, a few days after he had first seen Abigail and Abe._

 _He swallowed. Although he generally considered himself to be a good judge of character and behavior, he had to admit that this was one of the rare times that he didn't know what their captor's intentions were or how he would react to the two men's knowledge of their situation._

 _ **Apartment at Avenue D and East 8th Street, April 7**_

Henry swallowed as he fought back his tears. He had thought about using the dagger before him on himself later that evening or early the next morning, but he had felt that it would guarantee the exposure of his condition. Perhaps he should have killed himself with it while Brent was asleep later that night. If he had, perhaps the other man and his two friends would still be with them.

He inhaled to regain control of his raw emotions. He now knew that his usual plan to escape a dangerous situation wouldn't have made a difference. Pierce wasn't afraid to endanger innocent lives. It would stand to reason that he would have taken Brent's, Gene's, and Titus' regardless of the circumstances.

At the same time, Pierce had carefully guarded his secret, and he had no intentions of divulging it to anyone. Anyone, that is, but possibly his girlfriend. Henry lifted his eyes to the trio of photographs sitting behind the other objects. As he studied each one of them, he noticed that each one dated back to, at the latest, six months earlier.

He rolled his tongue in his mouth. Rachel's more relaxed demeanor revealed that her initial hesitation was due to a previous negative experience with the police and her concern about her boyfriend. Nothing in her current behavior indicated that she was keeping anything from Jo. Not even what he was considering to be the motive for the crimes.

He headed back to the women. "Pierce hasn't disclosed his full financial situation with you."

Rachel's eyes widened. "What?! No! He—."

Jo looked him in the eye as he stopped near the sofa. "What is this about?"

He dipped his head toward her. "It is natural for intimates to discuss what shape their finances are in." He looked her in the eye to remind her of their earlier conversation before turning to the other woman. "It provides them with a gauge to determine which activities they could afford either at the time or in the future." He gestured toward the photographs. "I've noticed that the photographs have been taken about six months ago." He placed his hands behind his back. "Either you two have been saving up for a wedding or your education or he hasn't been as honest about his finances as you would believe."

Rachel inhaled. "As far as I know, he is still working at Jammin' Pics." Her voice began to raise. "And we don't talk about money. We trust each other. He takes good care of me, and that's all that matters. If you had someone to love, you would know that."

Henry bit his tongue and swallowed his reaction. He had deduced that from witnessing the nature of the marriages of his parents' friends, and he had become determined long ago, before he had married Nora, to treat his wife with both love and care.

At that moment, the door creaked open. Henry could hear the rustle of a jacket and then the door's closure.

"Baby, why are you so upset?"

Henry fought back his compulsion to react to the familiar voice. He looked Jo in the eye, hoping that she picked up on his identification of the man.

A moment later, a red-haired, green-eyed, muscular man appeared in the living room. Pierce's eyes landed first on Rachel and then on Jo. They traveled down to Jo's badge. "Rach, what are the police doing here?"

He then seemed to notice another person in the room. His eyes met Henry's. The other man's eyes widened, and he paled as though he had seen a ghost. "What? I—, I—, I don't understand. How…?"

Henry's mouth dropped open slightly. He wasn't sure what he was more surprised about: the man's sudden submissive attitude or his own willingness to let someone else believe that he was immortal.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I based Henry's life in Lambeth on the flashbacks in "The Ecstasy of Agony". Looking at maps of London dating back to the very early 1800s, I discovered that Lambeth was one of the few places in modern London proper that was still very rural in nature at the time of Henry's first death.

If you want to know about how much Lt. Reece has won in the betting pools, it's enough for _several_ bottles of MacCallan 25—and a considerable amount left over.

Chapter 40 might be a little late. Of the moment, I have an excellent idea of how it will go, but the words for the middle part of it are not coming. I will publish it when inspiration finally strikes.


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry about the delay. As I mentioned my author's note from the previous chapter, I had experienced some writers' block while writing this one. Well, inspiration finally struck. I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 40**

"I can't believe that he voluntarily surrendered to us."

Lt. Reece's words pulled Henry away from his observation of Pierce's nervous behavior. "He didn't expect me to survive the fire. As far as he knew, I had died in it and had somehow returned to life."

She turned to him, her eyebrows arched. "And you're all right with that?"

He reviewed the day's events and narrowed his eyes. "I believe that I am."

She crossed her arms. "Who are you, and what have you done with Henry Morgan?"

Before he could answer her, the door to their usual interrogation room creaked open, and Jo and Mike crossed the threshold. He sighed. It was obvious that something had happened to him over the past two weeks. Whatever it was, determining the cause of his recent changes in behavior would need to wait until he returned home.

Pierce eyed the two detectives taking their seats. "I don't understand. Your friend was in the apartment at Columbia and Grand. Why is he still alive?"

Jo leaned forward and folded her hands in front of her. "Let's start with that. Why do you believe our medical examiner is the same man whom you had seen there?"

Pierce leaned back in his chair. "I thought that he was some drug addict when I had seen him walking toward Canal. I figured no one would miss him." He threw his hand up. "I swear, he spoke with an American accent. I had no idea that he was British or that he worked with the city."

Henry's eyes widened. Due to the carbon monoxide's destruction of most of his memories about those two days, he wasn't certain if he had revealed anything to Pierce. Evidently, he had been able to maintain his cover the entire time, with Brent being only one to know part of the truth.

Mike played with the edge of the folder. "We know that you sublet the apartment from Dean Brewster. Were you there the day of the fire?"

Pierce looked him in the eye. "Like I told my boss, I was at home sick with the flu. Rachel spent her vacation time taking care of me."

Mike patterned his posture after Jo's. "That's not what we've heard."

Pierce's eyes, clouding with suspicion, darted from one detective to the other. "Who told you that I was there?"

"One of the members of your crew."

Pierce slapped his hand on the table. "I should have known. Mark…"

Jo and Mike turned to each other, Mike raising an eyebrow in the process. Jo finally redirected her attention to the other man. "Why do you suspect Mark? Do you have a beef with him?"

The other man scoffed. "No, it's just that Mark is a stickler for details. Nothing gets past him."

Henry blew out a puff of air. For whatever reason, Pierce didn't perceive his colleague as a threat. There must have been some kind of benefit that had served as the basis for the firefighter's protection from his junior colleague's wrath.

Mike shifted in his chair. "How well do you know Walt Hunnicutt and Titus Forsyth?"

A fire glinted in the probationary fire fighter's eyes. "We've been working on renovation to the apartment. The two of them spent more time together than they had with me." He scoffed and leaned back. "Then again, what would you expect from the people who had taken my job away from me?"

Both Henry and Lt. Reece stepped closer to the window. Neither had expected that.

Jo sat bolt upright. "What do you mean by that?"

"You wouldn't understand." The man's curt tone made Henry's blood freeze.

"Make me."

Pierce's eyes met Jo's. "Okay." He folded his hands together and roughly laid them on the table's surface. "My friend Gene Tomberlin and I had worked at Smith and Morley until he was laid off. We ran into each other at an estate sale while I'm on a date with Rach shortly after I was laid off from Decker Financial. We started talking, and Gene offered me a job at his and his friend's poster shop. Six months ago, his snotty friend Brent accused me of stealing a Hogarth painting and a couple of other posters. I told him that they must have been moved into storage upstairs by mistake. He had the audacity to fire me." Pierce's voice sharply rose with each word. "I protested to Gene, but he chose to believe that good-for-nothing rather than me." He snickered. "The next thing I know, they hired two guys who know nothing about posters to work with them."

"How do you know that Titus and Walt were hired?"

Pierce lunged forward. "Take a guess."

 _Mark_. He had unwittingly supplied information about the four men, therefore ensuring his safety.

"What else did Mark tell you?"

The other man relaxed and settled down again. "He mentioned that they had discovered what had looked like a 1783 Hodgkins map and that they wanted someone who could authenticate it. When I started work at Jammin' Pics, I went online and learned as much as I could about posters, lithographs, and paintings. I came across Hodgkins' work, and I fell in love with it."

He smiled at the two detectives. "I had thought that I could help them. I called the shop about two and a half weeks ago and asked Brent if he could use some assistance. He hesitated, but he finally agreed to meet me at the apartment at Columbia and Grand the following Monday. I asked him if I could see the map. After telling me that he didn't have it on him, he shoved me, and I defended myself. The next thing I know, he is lying on the ground, unconscious. The next day, I panicked. The moment that I had seen your medical examiner, I convinced him to come and help me dispose of Brent."

Henry swallowed back his acerb reaction. During one of the few conversations that he clearly remembered, Brent had told him that Pierce had used brake fluid to render him unconscious as well.

Mike tapped on the table and then set his hand on his neck. "Tell us how the fire started."

Pierce threw his hands up. "I don't know how it became a backdraft. The only thing that I can think of is that I had accidently left some rags soaked with linseed oil in both that apartment and the one that would have been joined to it."

The reflection of Lt. Reece's eyes met his. "Based on what you've told me, only one was accidental."

Henry refused to acknowledge the comment and trained his gaze on the man. Even within the precinct's walls, Jo and Mike were not entirely safe. One wrong word could provoke a violent reaction from their suspect.

"So, what happened next?"

Pierce sighed and directed his gaze onto Jo. "The next day, I went to Gene's apartment to ask him about the map. He didn't know anything about it. I swear that he was alive when I had left him."

Henry pulled his lips together. Pierce's claim was plausible…only if he had left the apartment prior to the other man's death. According to Mike, however, the surveillance footage had shown that Pierce had left Gene's apartment _after_ his death. Hopefully, if the case went to trial, the jury would believe the evidence instead of Pierce.

Jo trained her eyes on him. "Then, you talked to Titus and Walt about it." Henry could see her struggling to keep her suspicions about his stabbing Walt to herself.

Pierce looked at her. "I talked to Titus and Walt about it the next day before I returned to work. They had confirmed that they did have it, but neither of them knew where it was at."

Henry rolled his tongue in his mouth. "They lied to Pierce. Gene tipped them off Tuesday and had instructed them to not talk to Pierce about it."

Mike leaned back and tapped the folder again. "We've discovered a payment for a container of arsenic listed on your credit card. What did you need it for?"

Pierce shifted his weight. "To kill the rats. Why else would I get any?" He sighed. "It was late in getting here."

Henry's eyes widened. "Pierce's original plan was to poison all four men. When his shipment didn't arrive in time, he resorted to different methods. That was why Lucas and I were initially unable to connect Brent's, Gene's, and Titus' deaths."

Mike scrutinized the man. "Why the sudden interest in the Hodgkins map?"

Pierce lowered his eyes. "I've been playing fantasy football and participating in March Madness, and I had lost quite a bit of money in both this year. I used all of my pension from Smith and Morley in paying off my debts. I tried to pay off the rest with payday loans, but I fell behind on my payments. The Hodgkins map would have paid them off, and it would have given me money to spare." He looked back up at them, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Rach knows nothing about this. I love her, and I want to ask her to marry me. I wanted to earn enough money to give her a ring and a honeymoon that she would love. After everything that she's been through with her parents being addicts and having to raise her younger brother and sister by herself, she deserves that."

Both Jo and Henry lowered their eyes. That was all that he could ask for Jo, for someone to give her the love and care that she deserved.

He looked up at the room as his kidnapping flooded back. He quickly headed for the other room, opened the door, and stood guard next to it. "Why did you place a privacy lock on the front door, and why was it installed backwards?"

Jo turned to him, her mouth agape. "What?"

Henry slipped his hands behind his back and took a step toward the group. "Privacy locks are generally installed on interior doors, and their keyholes face the exterior of the room. The lock on the door of the apartment was installed upside down and backward."

Pierce turned to him, a fire smoldering in his eyes. "It was an accident. The knob broke when I was working on the apartment before work. I was in a rush that day. I didn't see what I was buying at the hardware store, and I wasn't paying attention when I installed it."

Henry nodded. That was quite plausible. He had done that before himself.

He licked his lower lip. "Did you meet with Titus or Walt after that?"

Pierce hesitated before nodding. "I invited Titus to my place before work. I gave him a bran muffin that I had made for us."

Henry hid his surprise at the admission of the delivery method. "Where were you this past Monday?"

Pierce flew out of his chair and lunged toward Henry. "I should have stabbed you while I could." He growled. "You have no business—."

Henry squared his shoulders and planted his feet. If he died again today, it didn't matter that the cameras in the room would record his death. If it stopped the killing spree and saved the NYPD and OCME, it would be worth it.

A knock on the window stopped Pierce, who glared in the direction of the sound. Henry continued to stare at the other man, hoping that he would not move toward the two detectives. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jo lowering her gun and Mike quickly moving toward Pierce and wrangling their suspect's arms behind his back.

A second, more insistent pounding drew Henry's attention. He backed out of the room and quickly moved to the other one. The moment that he closed the door, Lt. Reece's stern expression greeted his.

He bowed his head before sheepishly looking back up at his superior. "I can explain."

Lt. Reece crossed her arms. "I know what you were trying to do. Just because you've got your memory back doesn't mean that you can act like you have a badge." She uncrossed them and smiled. "I can't blame you for protecting them, though. It's good to have you back."

"Thank you." It felt exhilarating to be back.

She studied him for a moment. "Now, about your and Jo's relationship…"

Henry froze. The last time that he had fallen in love with a fellow colleague, the administrators at the Milan base hospital where he and Abigail had worked had frowned upon it. He braced himself for his unofficial superior's verdict.

"In case you've forgotten, the NYPD has no control over the OCME." She looked him directly in the eye. "If I feel that your personal feelings are interfering with an investigation, I will shoot you myself, and I will ensure that you _will_ spend the night in jail. Do I make myself clear?"

He quickly overcame his stunned disbelief at her decision. "Perfectly."

At that moment, Jo and Mike entered the room, and Henry could hear patrol officers in the nearby hallway. Jo squeezed in close to him, nearly causing him to lose all thought.

"How are you doing?"

Henry faced her and gave her a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "I've been worse."

"Anyway," Mike's voice drew their attention. "I asked Pierce about his and Rachel's car. He said that Rachel had reported it stolen last Friday." He huffed. "Based on the description, it sounds like the same car that almost ran you over, but we couldn't find anything on the surveillance footage. The company that runs them had deactivated it a week before. Meanwhile, I checked with the fire department yesterday, and Pierce was on shift all day Monday."

Henry swallowed his disappointment. "Someday, the culprit will turn up."

He glanced back at Jo. He wished that it would come true for her sake. Unlike him, she didn't have all of the time in the world, and she deserved to know who had almost taken her life. In the event that the day would not come in her lifetime, he would spend the rest of his days searching for the answers if he must.

He smiled. Whatever had changed him hadn't altered his feelings for her. In fact, it had appeared to deepen them…and he couldn't be happier.

* * *

Jo pulled her lips together as the unis escorted Pierce out of the other room. Out of all the motives for murder, Pierce's had to be the hardest one to swallow. She could understand how greed, jealousy, revenge, and—as she had once seen with Henry—an inability to trust the law enforcement community in administrating justice could drive someone to contemplate murder. Yet, murdering someone for money and hoping that their loved ones would willingly accept the rationale behind it…. She couldn't accept her father's decision to burglarize homes and resell the stolen goods to support her and her family. How could she expect anything less from Rachel?

A hand enclosed itself on her shoulder. She immediately glanced down and noticed that it was Henry's. Its warmth drew the tension out of her body, leaving her speechless.

"Are you okay?"

She pivoted toward him and nodded. "I was thinking about my father." Surprisingly, this was the first case of this type that _hadn't_ brought back the painful memories. "I'll be fine."

"It is never easy when something reminds you of your loved one's betrayal."

She bit her lower lip as he joined her side. His experiences with his father and then Nora had taught him that. Judging from the look on his face, Pierce's interrogation had reminded him of it.

As they headed to the door, he placed his hand on her back. She grinned and, although it didn't need it, brushed her hair back over her ear. Somehow, Henry always knew how to make her feel better.

He slipped his hand into hers, causing her heart to flutter and the bustling bullpen to fall away around them. Just four days ago….

Her mind raced through the events. Today was April 7, the same day that his previous 238 years were to have been erased from his memory forever. The same day that he had….

"Why didn't you remind me of today's date?"

"Hmm…" He turned to her with a dreamy expression on his face and an equally pleased tone in his voice.

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Your _other_ birthday."

He cocked his head and stared at her. She met his gaze and slightly nodded toward his chest. Then his eyes widened in surprise. He sheepishly bowed his head before turning to her with a lopsided smile.

"I haven't noticed it before now. I've been dwelling on other things." He leaned over and lowered his voice. "Admittedly, I had never thought of today in that manner before."

Two officers passed them, forcing them closer to each other and the nearby wall. "Are you planning to celebrate your memory's return tonight?"

He sighed, stopped, and leaned against the wall in the hallway leading to the elevator. He took her free hand and drew her closer to him. "I was thinking about spending the evening with Abe. After everything that I have put him through over the past two weeks, he could use some comfort."

She pursed her lips together as she fought her disappointment. She wanted to do something special to mark the occasion. Yet, Henry was a father, and he needed to be there for his son, especially after this.

He caught her gaze. "Perhaps we could commemorate it tomorrow night. According to my schedule, I'm supposed to leave work early, and that should give me enough time to return home and assist Abe with the preparations." He smiled at her. "I plan to hold an intimate affair with a couple of close friends and a certain woman."

Jo grinned. "What time do you want us to be at your place?"

"About 7." He sighed again. "Now, to break the news to Lucas."

She chortled. Lucas would tackle him the moment that he heard about Henry's plans.

His gaze locked onto hers. "Abe gave you a key to the shop while I was in the hospital."

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him. "How do you know that?" Mike and Lucas had assumed that she had moved in with the Morgan men when they had seen it, but she—and, as far as she knew, Abe—had never mentioned it to Henry.

"When Abe and I returned home last night, the door was unlocked, and you, Mike, and Lucas were already inside." He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Keep it. You never know when you are going to need it."

She studied each speck in his eye as he pulled away from her. The last woman whom he had let into his life so fully was Abigail. Now…

Another uni passing by them reminded her of their location. They exchanged one more glance before resuming their walk. "I hadn't thanked you for my coffee and my note."

The smile on his face grew wider. "Anything for you."

A moment later, the elevator emerged into view. She groaned internally while her heart sank. The few moments alone with Henry were way too short.

He reluctantly released her hand and pushed the button. "I'll see you tomorrow evening unless we get another case."

She grinned. She had that to look forward to. "See you then."

As he gave her another lopsided grin, she beamed. If the past four days were a preview of what a relationship with Henry would be like, she was looking forward to seeing where it would lead.

* * *

"Cause of Death: Retrograde amnesia affecting autobiographical and procedural memories, caused by carbon monoxide poisoning

Pain Level: 11+"

Henry set his pen down and studied the number in his journal. The unusual designation wasn't the most scientifically accurate method of depicting the mental anguish that both he and everyone whom he cared about had been through recently, but it was the only way to maintain consistency in his entry.

Re-reading his notes, he shook his head in amazement. For two weeks, he was mortal again. In that short time, he had once again known what it was like to gain knowledge about himself and the world around him. To become immediately smitten by someone without the slightest thought about how his past would impact their future. To hope and dream about a life filled with family, friends, and purpose. To find a home. Even to had breathed his last breath and to be astonished when he had found himself among the living once more.

He chortled. To be honest, those events sounded like his immortal life as well. Only it had taken him decades or centuries to reach several of those milestones instead of days or years.

" _You haven't lived for a very long time."_

Henry sighed. Many times over the centuries, he had been reminded of his humanity. Reminders which he had either dismissed or forgotten because he had focused on his difference from everyone else. Yet, his humanity was never bound to his ability to join his family and friends in the afterlife. It, as everyone had pointed out, was bound to his heart and his character.

He pushed himself out of his seat, crossed his arms, and began to pace. Obviously, the lessons that they had attempted to impart and his recent experiences had taken root in him last night while he had slept. It was the only possible explanation for the change in him.

He pirouetted, and the "Why?" on his chalkboard popped out at him. He stepped closer and rolled his tongue in his mouth. His deaths from aconite and falls off tall structures had never lasted longer than two minutes. According to Abe and Jo, the deaths from his flintlock pistol and Adam's high-powered rifle had taken just as long to awaken from. His reveal to Abigail and the penultimate death so far….

His mind drifted back to the death from Adam's rifle. He bowed his head. Moments prior to that one, he had gathered the courage to ask Jo out on a date. His murder and learning of Adam's prior warning to her had killed the desire to see where a romantic relationship with her would lead…but not his feelings for her.

He smiled. He should take her out soon, after all of the additional autopsies that Dr. Washington had necessitated were conducted. The accomplishment of that task would provide him with the undivided attention that she deserved. That, and it would give him some time to figure out where to take her.

"Don't tell me that you're still planning to become a member of the dead."

Henry pivoted toward Abe. "I've made another discovery." He threw his hands up to prevent his son's protests. "Do you remember when I had said that some of my deaths lasted longer than others?"

"Yeah." Abe crossed his arms over his chest.

Henry excitedly pointed to the two unusual deaths. "These two shouldn't have lasted as long as they did. I had initially assumed that the duration was related to the nature of the injury, but I now believe that other factors were at work."

"Like?"

Henry laid his hands on the chair. "At the time of those and several other long-lasting deaths, I was at an emotional crossroads, and that could have influenced the duration of the deaths." He chortled. "Perhaps the differing lengths is my equivalent of everyone else's question about what happens after death."

"So," Abe raised his eyebrows. "You're not planning to kill yourself?"

Henry bowed his head, and his eyes landed on his journal. He should continue recording his unique deaths as a reference for future autopsies. He looked back up at his son and smiled. "Only for cases. There's much more that I would like to do before I discover that even my life has an end."

Abe scrutinized him for a moment. "Who are you, and what have you done with Pops?" He then embraced the older man. "I have never thought that I would live to see this day."

Tears pushed upward as the joy of the moment and the knowledge of a future sorrow welled up in Henry. "Me too."

The younger Morgan pulled away and placed a hand on his hip. "Do you want to see what I've been up to for the past three months?"

Admittedly, last night was the first time that he had thought about it in a month. "I would."

"Grab your coat and scarf, and let's go."

Henry joyfully joined Abe's side. Too much time had passed since they had done this last. It felt good to do it again.

* * *

Abe smiled as Dad happily pointed out various places and chattered about life in the past. For a while last night, he had thought that he would be holding a funeral for his father and that their group of friends would decide where he would spend the rest of his life. Yet, having his father back whole was one of the best things ever.

He knitted his eyebrows together. He was relieved that his father had finally decided to give up his search for a way to become a corpse, but this was different. The spring in Dad's step from this morning appeared to be persistent, and the older man's heart seemed to lighter. What had happened to him last night? Whatever it was, it had lifted the weight off his father's shoulders.

"Where are we going to?"

The steps leading to the National Museum came into view. Abe laid a hand on Dad's shoulders and directed him to it. "Here."

Dad froze and stared at the top of the stairs. Abe followed his gaze to the sign stating that it was a private event. He gulped. How was he going to explain this to his father?

Dad turned to him, dropped his jaw, and shook his head. He then hissed, "Abraham, we are _not_ going to crash a private event. May I remind you—?"

Abe pointed at his father. "One, I have a special invitation. Two, a private party didn't stop you and Abigail from having a date night or solving a case years later." His inability to call the woman who had taken him in and called him her own "Mom" stabbed his heart.

Dad scrutinized him for a moment. "In that case, lead the way."

As they ascended the stairs and passed through the atrium, Abe's heart began to race. How was he going to explain his contact with Dad's one-time rival for Jo's affections? It was one thing when Dad encountered the treacherous Berkowitz brothers during cases, but this…this was more like an act of betrayal.

Isaac's voice, joined by those from the other members of the Explorer's Club, drifted into the area. Abe eased around the decked-out crowd. Isaac had extended an invitation to him and Dad. Yet, Abe had missed being with his father for past two weeks, and he really wanted to spend the night with him.

A young African-American woman called the billionaire's name. Abe smiled as she kissed Isaac on the cheek. His girlfriend Keisha was a tomato, just like Fawn.

Abe swallowed as he beckoned his father to join him in an area to their left. He had no idea how Dad would take the news that Fawn now knew his secret. Hopefully, he wouldn't keep him from seeing her again. He wasn't sure what he would do if that were to happen.

He spun around, and his jaw opened at the sight. Although he had helped to set up the exhibit, it was still awe-inspiring. Several display cases lined the walls of the space. A poster covered the wall behind each case. A ship's wheel and a model of a double-mast, square-rigged sailing ship occupied the center of the room.

He watched his father wander alongside the cases displaying the contents of _The Empress_ and the posters detailing the Slave Trade Act of 1807 and the successful revolt aboard the ship. His involvement in setting up the exhibit was a labor of love for him. Until a few years ago, Dad had rarely mentioned the days before he had become immortal. Doing this had given Abe a greater appreciation for what had happened that night.

He caught the reflection of his father's distant eyes as he stopped at the case and gazed at a replica of the same flintlock pistol that was now in the same box as a _pugio_ in the NYPD's evidence room. Dad was remembering the night of his first death. The young Morgan smiled as he corrected himself. As Jo had told Dad, tonight was the night of Dad's second birth.

Dad turned, looked at his son, and pointed at the exhibit. "Abe, did you work on this?"

He nodded. "Isaac came to the shop three months ago." He threw his hand up. "He wanted to know if you were interested in helping him set it up since you had shown an interest in _The Empress_. You were busy with your cases, so I volunteered to help."

He placed his hand on his hip. "He also asked me to appraise the contents of his warehouses. You wouldn't believe what he's found during his expeditions—."

"Abraham." Dad warned.

Abe threw his hands up again. "I haven't touched any of his stuff. I've just thought that they were interesting, especially everything that dates back to this period."

Dad huffed. "As long as he isn't missing anything, I'll take you at your word."

He then smiled, rejoined Abe at the steering wheel, and wrapped his arms around him. "I'm proud of you."

Abe hugged him back. "Thanks, Dad."

Dad released him, stepped over to the model, and examined it. He quickly found exactly what he was looking for and nudged Abe to turn around. He pointed to a location on the hull. "If I were a ship's captain seeking to punish a rebellious crew member, I would shoot him right here."

Abe's eyes widened in surprise. His father had just pointed to the scene of his first death.

The older man looked back at the party. "You've mentioned that you have an invitation to this gathering. Do you want to mingle with everyone?"

Abe shook his head. "Tonight's about us. There will be other parties." Like the one that they were throwing tomorrow.

Dad laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's go home. How about a game of chess?"

He couldn't believe how much he missed that. "Sounds good to me. This time, I'm going to beat you."

As they eased their way around the party again, Abe smiled. It felt good to have everything to return to normal.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** If you are struggling to remember when Abe gives Jo a key to the shop, it's back in Chapter 2. I had planned the conversation about it here since the beginning. In case you're wondering, Henry knows that Jo might need it to access the apartment to get some clothes for him in the event that Abe is out of town.

I hope that no one minded me bringing back Isaac in this capacity. To be honest, I have always felt—and still feel—that he has more information about _The Empress_ and that fateful voyage than he tells Henry. It's the only reason why I thought about putting him in this story. (If you read my works, you know that I'm a die-hard Jenry shipper. If I think about putting him in any other work, Jenry will be completely safe.)

It feels odd to say this, but I'm typing up the last chapter as I post this. It will be posted in the next couple of weeks.


	41. Chapter 41

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter. I hope that you will enjoy it.

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

Henry stared at the spot where Officer Hannigan, in his report, had stated that he had lain. The cold wind whipping the two thin strips of crime scene tape still attached to a tree and the threatening storm clouds rolling in behind him warned him to hurry with his plan. He squashed the urge to immediately leave the park. He wanted to do this, and nothing, not even the incoming inclement weather, could deter him from his task.

The words "You're supposed to be dead" tumbled in his head. Indeed, his life was supposed to have ended two centuries ago. Yet, had he died then, he would have missed out on everything that he had experienced and everyone whom he had met. Likewise, if he were to learn that tonight would be his last night among the living, he didn't want to leave everyone and everything behind just yet.

He inhaled as his eyes found the location where his head had been. Two weeks ago, the man who had lain under the tree had harbored deep-seated fears, suspicions, and mistrust created by a centuries-old betrayal. The only way that he had seen out of his state was to find a cure for his condition, and no one, not even his family and friends, could fully or completely dissuade him from pursuing that purpose. Although his desire for death had diminished greatly over the years, it had lingered just under the surface of his thoughts, waiting for the right moment to break through and interrupt his life once again.

That man had died Tuesday evening. In his place stood one who, in spite of the prospect of continual grief caused by the loss of his loved ones and humanity's tendency to repeat the past, wanted to share his life with others and to actively pursue a life of purpose. A man who now saw his second chance at life two centuries ago as a gift both to others and himself. A man who now looked forward to whatever adventures that life brought his way.

Henry's gaze travelled to the rushing river. He would still need to exercise caution in sharing details about his life and in dying in public. If his past was any indication, this newfound sense of freedom might be shattered by either someone he trusted or people's reactions to a public revelation, resurrecting the feelings that he had experienced for centuries. If others would attempt to awaken him to his humanity once again, they would be successful only if the events of the past two weeks had created a memory so powerful that it maintained an influence over him for eternity.

He smiled. Before that would happen, he had several more people with whom he wanted to share the truth about his life: Jo's mother, Fawn, Karen, Marco, Jerry, Myron, and—perhaps one day—the Hanson boys, Jeff, and Tori. From the appearance of things, the Hansons, Fawn, Abe's friends, and Jo's mother might accept his immortality either immediately or after a short amount of time. As for Jeff and Tori, time would tell if they would believe and accept it as well. Even if he would need to keep his immortality a secret from them, it would still be nice to include everyone in his circle of friends.

He felt a stillness in his soul and happily sighed. He hadn't felt this free in years. The last time that he had seen the world as being full of beauty, promise, and wonder, he had just turned six. The next day, his father had decided to become a more active part in raising him, and he had gradually become preoccupied with life's woes and worries ever since.

The wind picked up, reminding him of the impending storm and of his task. He pulled the stone that he had picked up at the shoreline of Catherine Slip earlier that morning, walked up to the tree, and tucked the rock firmly between the roots. Hopefully, whenever he awakened here, he would find it and remember what had recently happened.

He gazed at the river. In contrast to the storm that would soon rage over the city, he was, for once in his immortal life, at peace. He smiled. It didn't matter if this feeling would last minutes or millennia. He planned to enjoy it while it lasted.

He pulled out his pocket watch, checked the time, and grinned. He had a party to prepare for.

* * *

"What is this, 'Ask Henry' Day?"

Henry nearly startled at Abe breaking his taciturnity. The immortal set the pair of wine glasses for Jo and himself on the table and turned toward Abe. He chuckled at his son's observation of the multitude of questions directed at him. "Let them enjoy it. I have returned from the dead."

"What do you mean? You're always returning back to life." Abe brought over the plates and silverware and studied him. "Are you okay? Have you forgotten the two deaths this week?"

"No. Yes, I'm perfectly fine. No, I have not forgotten them." Their eyes met, and Henry suspected that Abe knew the significance of the comment. Henry took the settings from his son and sighed at the memory. "In a sense, amnesia was a form of death for me. My basic sense of self had remained alive, but my experiences and my knowledge had no longer existed. As a result, I had generated quite a few questions regarding both my behavior and the bits of my life that I could remember during this case."

He smiled the second that Abe returned to the island. He usually shunned being the center of attention. In this instance, he was relishing it since it had brought so much joy to everyone else and was satisfying their curiosity. At the same time, he had thought that he would never be able to share any of his stories ever again.

"I see." Abe walked over with two bowls in his hands. "In that case, I'll take 'The Last Chess Game that I Had Won' for 400, Alex."

 _Where did he learn that expression, and who's Alex?_ "Is that your subtle way of challenging me to a rematch?"

He grinned as he headed back to the cabinets and removed two more wine glasses for Mike and Lucas. Abe hadn't won since Jo had graced their doorstep and informed them that she had requested him as her ME. Then again, he had been distracted by his thoughts about the next time that he would see her and those of the last time that a woman had readily and completely captivated his attention, allowing Abe to capitalize on his error.

Abe's gaze and smile fell, prompting Henry's worry about the younger Morgan's sullenness to rise up in him. Abe had seemed preoccupied with something all evening. Hopefully, everything was all right.

"It is not!" Mike's irritated voice flowed into the kitchen.

"Is too!" Lucas' matched the detective's. "Sherlock—."

Henry rolled his eyes. For a pair of adults, Lucas and Mike could act very juvenile at times.

"Let's ask Doc."

Henry set their wine glasses on the table and headed into the living room. "What do you want to ask me?"

Mike turned to him. "Settle this debate for us. Where did the phrase 'The game's afoot' come from?"

Henry stared at the two younger men in disbelief. Were they truly interested in one of his pop culture references? He cleared his throat. "Well, Arthur stole the expression from Northumberland's line in Shakespeare's _King Henry IV, Part I_ : 'Before the game is afoot, thou still let'st slip'. In the play—"

Mike waved his hand as he chuckled. "Okay! Sorry I asked!" He then smiled. "I can't believe that I'm saying this, but it's good to hear your long lectures again." He paused. "Wait a minute. Arthur? You knew—?"

Jo hid her smile behind her hand while Henry settled next to her on the sofa. "You're still not used to Henry's name drops, are you?"

Mike leaned toward her and folded his hands in his lap. "Cut me some slack, would you? I haven't had as much time with the entire 'Doc's met famous people, some even before they became famous' thing as you and Lucas have."

He eyed the older man and sobered. "Karen was surprised to see you and Lucas at Brent and Titus' memorial service today."

Henry studied the coffee table's grain. Due to the media coverage of the event and the possibility of leaving for another case or body, they had taken seats in the back row of Baruch College's auditorium. Fortunately, aside from Jo, Mike, Karen and several members of the OCME who were in attendance, Jeff and Tori were the only other people who had noticed that he was there. "I wanted to be there for Jeff."

The thought of telling Jeff about Brent's last hours of life crossed Henry's mind. If he were to mention his immortality to Jeff, he should describe what he could remember of that time. Hopefully, Jeff wouldn't blame him for his inability to save his beloved cousin's life.

Henry faced Mike. "I should tell Karen about my immortality soon."

He smiled. It felt amazing to no longer have Nora's disbelief and Adam's voice replaying in his head every time that he thought about his immortality.

He felt everyone's eyes boring into him and threw his hands up. "I plan to continue to keep my condition a secret. I, however, would like to reveal it to a few more people, notably family members and close friends of ours. Karen is a logical first choice. Not only is she Mike's wife but also she will be encountering a part of my life during her research into 18th- and 19th-century European shipping companies. Telling her could give her a lead on her research, and it will keep Mike out of trouble if he returns home late due to one of my deaths one day."

Abe quickly wiped his hands on his pants the moment that he crossed the threshold. "You might want to rethink that."

Adrenaline coursed through Henry's veins. "Why?" If they needed to move again, he didn't want to leave New York. He had his life here.

Abe lowered his gaze. "Fawn knows your secret." The young lad's hesitant steps kept Henry from thinking of a response. "Do you remember that picnic that we had in 1953? The one in which you were stabbed?"

"Yes." The memory of that day came back as clearly as today's events.

After a moment, his jaw dropped open. Because of that day and his few glimpses of her while picking Abe up at school when Abigail had been unable to do so, he had immediately recognized her when he and Abe had crashed Lyle's funeral. "How much of that death did she see?"

"Everything." Abe crossed his arms over his chest. "Believe it or not, I'm the first person whom she's ever told, and she never said anything about it to _me_ because she was terrified that I wouldn't believe her."

"What had prompted her to tell you now?" Henry suspected that he might know when it had happened, but he wasn't sure about the how.

"When we met at the coffee shop on Sunday, she showed me the picture that her father had taken that day. I—."

Henry shook his head in amazement as the pieces fell into place. "That explains your and Jo's argument later that evening. I had believed that you were sending me to Bellevue because of my amnesia." His heart ached at the thought of Jo taking on his role at the time. Concurrently, pride that his son had learned from his mistake with her filled him, and an awe that the woman he loved had adopted his son as her own was rendering him speechless.

Henry's eyes met his son's. "You can invite Fawn over for dinner soon so that I can tell her the full story."

"Great!" Abe grinned. "I was thinking about Saturday."

Henry reviewed the schedule and nodded. He was scheduled to work his normal hours that day. Knowing Jo and Mike, if a case were to arise while they were taking their vacations, they would postpone his involvement until Sunday morning. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, and they could enjoy their break.

He turned to Mike. "My apologies for making Karen the second person whom I will reveal the truth to now."

The detective leaned back in his chair. "As long as you're bailing me out with my wife, I'm good."

Before anyone could speak, the phone rang. Everyone reached into their pockets for their cell phones. Upon the second ring, Henry realized that it was _his_ phone. Who could be calling him at this hour?

He stepped over to the end table and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello." The familiar masculine voice sent one very deep chill down Henry's spine and made his skin crawl. "I mistakenly bumped into you at Baruch College a few days ago."

Everyone stared at him, curiosity on their faces. He mouthed the name of the other immortal to let them know who was on the other end.

"I wanted to check up on you. It seemed as though you looked a little lost. Were you able to find the room where you needed to be?"

As Henry listened, he knitted his eyebrows together. Adam acted like this was the first time that they had ever spoken to each other.

He bit his lower lip. Perhaps….

He called up every emotion and thought from their first conversation. "I hate to disappoint you, but I'm neither a student nor a professor. I'm flattered that you would think of me that way." His fingers drummed the end table just as they had years ago.

Adam's breath on the other end warned of danger if he weren't careful. "I also thought that I had seen you in the I would like to meet with you if you would like. I have something that you might be interested in. Something regarding a traffic accident Monday afternoon. Perhaps I can stop by later tonight and tell you about it."

Henry leaned against the end table, his eyes moving onto each person in the room. "I'm afraid that I'm busy at the moment. If you would leave me your number, I could call you when it's more convenient."

"That would be splendid."

Henry turned around, found the notepad and the pen, and jotted down the burner phone's number and Adam's comments. He smiled. Perhaps they were one step closer to finding a way to bring the psychopathic immortal to justice.

* * *

Snapping his phone shut, Adam stared at the lit second floor windows. Over the course of his long life, he had believed that it was rare to have a second opportunity at anything. The moment that he had seen Henry's blank stare at Baruch College, he had become uncharacteristically overjoyed at the development. Judging from the call, his assistance Monday afternoon had given the child the impression that something was different about him, and it had whetted the young immortal's appetite for information.

A quiet voice in his mind nagged him with questions. Even when things happened spontaneously, he had always covered his tracks. This time was different. This time, he had been sloppier by allowing too many people to see him. He had lingered too long at the burning apartment complex at Columbia and Grand during the middle of the morning. He had returned to the scene and had allowed himself to be interrogated by the fire marshal who had arrived a few minutes earlier. Although he was certain that no one had noticed him entering the precinct to discover whether his "colleagues" had detected his presence at the fire, the security cameras would have recorded his movements. At the same time, the red-light cameras would have caught the license plate number of the car that he had stolen over the weekend, and the young mortal whom he had stabbed Monday afternoon could identify him. If anything were to go wrong with his plan to discourage Henry's work with the NYPD and to send Jo a very strong message about becoming involved with immortals, it would come from one of those sources.

He silenced the thoughts. There was no reason to fret about his plan. His work with the NYPD's records department had also allowed him the opportunity to help Jo's investigation along since Henry was out of commission. Adam had expedited the completion of the background checks that she had requested, and he had called Lt. Reece to let her know that he had sent them. He had determined the identity of the poster shop's fourth worker and had gone to question him. Since the man's friend was at work, Adam's decision to stab the youth had alerted the police to the identity of the true suspect.

Not to mention, Henry should be grateful that he had passed by the apartment complex when he had. If he hadn't noticed Henry looking out the window for a way to escape and rescued him from the fire, the young immortal would have died in front of the firefighters when they entered the apartment, and his life in New York would have been over. Now, knowing that the child had no memory of anything, Adam had something to share with him which would segue into their conversation about his immortality.

Adam stared back up at the window. In his 2,000 years, he had never known what it was like to lose his memory. What was it like to be a clean slate? To no longer feel his past pressing down on his present? He could only imagine what the young man was thinking and feeling.

Another question, the possibility that either everyone had caught Henry up on his past or he had regained his memory, rose its voice. Adam quickly squashed it. It would be nearly impossible for Henry to remember nearly 250 years of existence in merely two weeks. Even if a few things had returned, Henry's rational mind would reject whatever details his so-called friends would tell him about his immortality. Demonstrating his immortality to him would be the only way to make him accept the reality of his existence.

Reminding himself that he had a few things to do before his "vacation" ended, Adam fastened his helmet and pumped the accelerator on his motorcycle. It wasn't often that he could indulge in his love of motorcycles. Yet, the one which he had impulsively bought recently was much better than the sedan that he had spontaneously stolen from an Alphabet City grocer Friday afternoon while attempting to talk himself into going to the shop and talking to Henry.

Adam pumped the accelerator one more time and pulled away from the shadows near the antiques shop. He still needed to comb documents detailing the life of an English doctor in A Coruña in the early 1800s and books from Baruch College's library. Perhaps one of them would yield something that would drive a wedge between Henry and Jo. If not, then Henry's inability to remember anything would be his undoing.

Adam smiled as he passed a car on the rain-slick roads. He was looking forward to finally taking Henry under his wing.

* * *

"You should win an Oscar for that performance."

The warmth of Jo's body against his and the sound of her voice near his ear almost made Henry forget what he was doing. He handed her the slip of paper and headed back to the sofa. "I hope that he bought it."

He swallowed. He hated to think that he had inadvertently placed everyone in harm's way if Adam hadn't.

He shoved the thought out of his mind as he and Jo settled on the sofa once again. They would find out soon enough, and, if Adam were to threaten everyone, he would face not only Henry's wrath but also that of the NYPD's. In the meantime, tonight was a celebration, and Adam should not have the opportunity to ruin it.

Lucas attempted to rearrange his lanky frame in his chair near the fire place. "Diagnose yourself. Why couldn't you remember that you were immortal?"

Henry leaned forward and laced his hands together. "I must have been concerned that the firefighters would see me die and vanish and that I would have to leave New York immediately afterward. Since those thoughts and memories had likely occurred just as I had begun to feel the effects of carbon monoxide poisoning, my immortality was the first memory that had disappeared. Everything else that was connected to it soon followed until I had almost nothing but vague impressions of my life left. After I had regained consciousness, the memories that had returned before my death Tuesday evening were sparked by what I had been exposed to or what I had thought about at the time."

He smiled. He was relieved that his amnesia didn't last permanently. He wasn't sure what he would have done if it were to have persisted throughout his life.

"Say, Henry, do you mind answering another question?" Lucas leaned back in his chair.

"It depends on what it is." With his assistant, anything was possible.

"Have you ever been in the hospital before this? I mean, I don't recall you mentioning ever being in one."

"I have." Henry looked at his surprised friends. "I was hospitalized in Bellevue in the 1880s."

Lucas leaned forward, mirroring Henry's posture. "What happened? Did one of your deaths lead people to think that you were crazy?"

"No. I treated several families who were infected with typhus in the tenements of Alphabet City. I confronted the owner of one tenement building—actually, the same one in which we had found Raul Lopez—about their living conditions, and he ordered his men to beat me up. The next thing that I knew, I woke up in the hospital with a nurse by my bedside." Henry smiled as he remembered waking up with Abe and not a total stranger beside him this time.

Lucas began to grin. "You didn't…"

Henry cut off Lucas' next question with a glare. "She and I never initiated relations beyond a nurse-patient acquaintance." The exchange between the two elicited a chuckle from the group.

"Were any charges filed?" Mike now imitated them.

"I don't believe so. Remember, the NYPD was in its relative infancy at the time. Even if they were to press charges, the tenement building owners would have pressured the police to drop them. In my case, the owner would have claimed that I was trespassing as I had used the tunnels under the tenements to access my patients."

Abe chimed in from the dining room. "You can imagine what was like for me when I requested Dad's medical records. I was hoping that the old ones were completely destroyed."

Henry licked his lower lip. "Speaking of Bellevue, I'll be there for an appointment tomorrow morning."

"What?!" The entire group gaped at him.

"Henry, are you serious?" Jo eyed him the same way that she once had when she had suspected that he was risking his life to save hers.

He nodded. "I had made the appointment a few hours before I had regained my memory. Given the circumstances, keeping it will give the appearance that I am talking to someone about my kidnapping. At the same time, I want to test a new cover story on her."

"A new story?"

He chuckled. "Until recently, I didn't realize how suspicious the one which I had come up with on my own had sounded to you or to anyone else." He glanced at Abe. "The one that I plan to share with her is the same one that I had deduced with Abe's assistance last week. It's merely a general outline of my life's story without the timeframe or the context. If I do supply a context, it would be in the form of being bullied as a child and needing to overcome it. That's what I had told her in the hospital."

Lucas straightened himself and stretched. "How are you going to explain your amnesia?"

He rolled his tongue in his mouth. "I'll tell her the truth, kind of. I'll say that I was in a fire and that I had been rescued. When I woke up in the hospital, I had been unable to remember much about my life. Over the course of two weeks, it had dissipated when my family and friends helped me in jogging my memory."

They nodded as they took in his words. Eventually, one by one, they met his gaze. He smiled at them. They didn't know how grateful he was for their friendship and support, both in the past and recently. He owed them such a tremendous debt of gratitude that there was no way that he could even begin to adequately repay it.

Abe reappeared in the threshold. "Is everyone ready for dinner?"

Everyone rose and filed toward the dining area filled with the mouthwatering aromas of spaghetti, meatballs, two types of marinara, garlic bread, and even blueberry scones. As Jo sat in Henry's usual place at the table, he smiled. Somehow, it felt so natural, so right for her to take her seat there.

Abe produced a bottle of wine and handed it to Henry. "Lt. Reece dropped this off earlier today for the party, and she left a second bottle for you and Jo."

Henry wrinkled his eyebrows. How did she know about the fete? He had never mention it. He shrugged and passed the bottle around. He'll find out soon enough.

Once the glasses were filled, Abe raised his glass. "To family, friends, and memories to be made and shared."

Henry raised his own glass. "To life."

Everyone clinked their glasses together. "To life."

As Henry set his glass down, Jo's foot grazed his thigh and rendered him unconscious of everything but the two of them. He longed for her to do it again to see her reaction. If she were of the same mind, he would spirit her away from the apartment and see where their impulses led.

A couple of titters from Lucas and Mike brought him out of his haze. His cheeks flushed. He had no clue how he was going to survive the completion of Dr. Washington's unfinished autopsies without asking Jo out.

Jo leaned over, her brown eyes glowing as they held him spellbound. "So, A Coruña? What's so special about it? We've never heard you mention it before."

He studied her exquisite features. Her high cheekbones called to mind those that had run in the Martinez family who had lived there. Was it possible—?

He rolled his tongue again. Perhaps he should tell her that story after everyone else save Abe left. It was possible that she wasn't related to them. If she were, perhaps she would love to hear his connection to her ancestors and, regardless of her relationship with the family, what life was like in the city then.

He chortled. "I haven't thought about that in 200 years. I guess everything had brought it back."

Smiling, he looked at everyone as they causally passed the food around. He couldn't think of anyone else better to share that memory with.

"It all started on April 10, 1814, three days after my first death. I was…."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I wasn't going to let this story end without Adam making another appearance. I had planned for Adam to appear at the end since I had planned the story.

The "I'll take…for 400, Alex" comes from the trivia show _Jeopardy!_ with Alex Trebek as host.

As for Jo's foot rubbing Henry's thigh, she has _**no idea**_ that she has done it…or what she is doing to Henry.

Wow! It's been almost two years since I have started this! Admittedly, writing a novel as my first fanfic was a bit ambitious, but I'm glad that I took the chance to write it. Thank you, everyone, for reading it. It's been my pleasure to write it.

Just so you'll know, I do have an idea for a sequel for this story. It will be another case fic, but it will be much shorter (about one-fourth to one-third this length!), less complicated, and much more lighthearted than this. In addition, it will address one storyline that I had intentionally left open-ended. ***cough, cough*** the Jenry one ***cough, cough***


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